


Cascade

by thepapercrow



Series: A Different Life [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor References to Suicide, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Prostitution, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 89,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26891923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepapercrow/pseuds/thepapercrow
Summary: After joining up with the outlaw Arthur Morgan, Charles is forced to navigate his own confused feelings as they make their way across the country in search of a lucrative job. According to Arthur, one good take and his notorious mentor Dutch van der Linde will be forced to welcome Charles into the gang with open arms and forgive Arthur’s long absence.A continuation of Arthur and Charles’s first meeting while in their 20s.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Series: A Different Life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961767
Comments: 108
Kudos: 194





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow my one-shot has grown into a bit larger a story. Arthur and Charles are real close in age in this one (Charles 20 Arthur 22).

Traveling with another person, especially one as energetic as Arthur, was a bit of a strain at first. Where Charles was used to silence, he was met with chattering. Whenever he was startled by an odd noise filtering through the woods Arthur just shrugged it off or yelled into the forest that they were armed and ‘ready to shoot you thievin' bastards.’ It was the complete opposite of everything Charles was accustomed to- announcing themselves instead of fading away and disappearing into the brush. But after a couple days the tension wore down as they continued their travels unscathed.

Somehow, Arthur had even pried out a few sentences about Charles’s childhood- Charles still wasn’t sure how he’d been able to bring such buried secrets to light. Perhaps it had been his own sad story of his father Lyle and his problems with the law, or maybe Charles just felt ready to talk after all these years, Arthur’s inquisitive eyes the final encouragement needed to push him over the edge. It was appealing, having someone who heard him out without pity and Charles found himself content with their arrangement. He was also eager to follow through with the archery lessons he’d promised, proud to share his passion with a friend.

He wasn’t surprised to find that Arthur was a natural with a bow. The first couple hunting trips ended in less than clean kills and a sulky traveling companion, but by their third try, every animal was taken down neatly. That type of progress was unusual even if Arthur didn’t seem to believe him- he wasn’t sure if it was false modesty or real insecurity. Either way, the smile Arthur gave him seemed genuine enough.

They’d stayed in the forest north of town for a couple days working on Arthur’s archery skills but now they were somewhere south, in greener country new to them both. They set up camp after taking down a whole collection of rabbits, eager to finally eat after a day on the road. Arthur played with a crudely shaped arrow, the best Charles had managed with his still healing hand- stiff from the stitches.

“This is pretty useful Charles, can’t believe I waited so long to learn. Hell, I could take a man down without him ever bein’ the wiser!”

Charles snorted, “that’s kind of the point. But please don’t go shooting the next man we see on the trail.” Arthur gave him an offended look.

“You think I’d do that? Just shoot some poor feller walkin’ down the road?”

“You’re the one reveling in your newfound powers and talking about killing folk,” Charles replied. Arthur just tore into his second rabbit of the night, clearly jubilant to have fresh food over the cans he’d been carting around. Charles could relate, they’d eaten well six of the ten days they’d been traveling together even using the crude bow he’d managed to throw together with his old string and scavenged wood.

Their camp was small but cozy, the rains of the last week finally waning. The night was pleasant, and the oak tree cover protected the stone alcove in which they’d built their fire. Arthur busied himself searching his satchel, and with an approving sound pulled out a somewhat ominous looking bottle.

“Here it is!” He shook it a bit, demonstrating to Charles that it was liquid. When Charles failed to respond Arthur just continued, no doubt used to the silences by now, “it’s shine. I got it back at the trapper’s place and reckon’d it’s as good of a time as ever!”

Charles opened the bottle as it was roughly passed to him and promptly coughed. “You sure this is meant to be drunk? Could be some sort tanning chemical that’ll kill us both.” Arthur just laughed at him, clambered over and took a big swig himself before Charles could get out another word.

“Ain’t dead yet,” he replied with a cringe, “not too bad.” He took another swig to emphasize his point. The bottle was deposited into his lap before Arthur took a seat on the leaf litter to collect himself.

“You’re clearly lying. You’re looking a little pale.” But Charles took a more modest gulp. “Yep, a liar alright- this is awful.”

“Normally stick to whisky, but I ain’t ‘bout to pass up an opportunity like this. Authentic red-neck shine, straight from the source.” Charles couldn’t help but smile as he recalled the day.

-

Arthur had skinned his first deer and lugged the thing hours to the nearest trapper, proud of finally getting a clean kill after days of practice. The skinning had taken even longer than the tracking as Charles offered advice on how to get the cleanest cut and smoothest edges. Arthur was a good student, had listened to every word and even thanked Charles with a smile afterwards. He'd felt light all day, Arthur’s gratitude warming him in a very confusing way. It’d been a long trek, and Arthur had asked all about Charles’s past hunts.

“You ever take down a moose?” Arthur asked.

“Once.”

“Course you have, why’d I even ask?”

“It was kind of old though, not in it’s prime. Took me a while to figure out the best way to slow it, ended up springing a rope trap to tangle it’s antlers up before going in for the kill.”

“Still impressive, I’d turn tail and run if I saw one of those monsters anywhere near me. I’m surprised though, we actually got a really shiny deer today.”

“Shiny?”

“Yeah, look at it’s pelt- it’s glossy. Or somethin’.”

Just looked like any old deer to Charles, but he smiled all the same, “you’re right. It’s very shiny.”

The mood had soured as soon as they reached the trapper though- the old man immediately raising his gun at Charles and yelling something garbled through a set of sporadic teeth. Arthur had immediately dropped the deer pelt and jumped in front of him.

“We’re just here to sell a pelt mister! We mean no harm!” Arthur tried to placate the man, but the gun didn’t lower.

“Ain’t buyin’ nothin’ from his kind,” said the man, voice a growl. “You’d best get away from here or I’ll kill ya both dead.”

“Wha-” Arthur began, clearly confused. “We just meant to sell…” he cut off as Charles grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Let’s go,” he hissed to Arthur. Charles could see the trapper’s finger tight on the trigger, just waiting for an excuse to shoot them both. Arthur was rigid under his hand and for a few agonizing seconds Charles was certain he was about to tear out of his grasp and run straight into the gun, but eventually he seemed to deflate and moved backwards towards Charles. They were both quiet as they rode away from the austere shack, Arthur refusing to look at him at all.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Arthur offered an hour later as they settled into the small cave.

“Don’t think we need to watch tonight, we’re protected back here in the cliffside,” Charles said in response. Arthur just grunted and sat in the mouth of the cave. Charles settled back into his bedroll, knowing Arthur had made up his mind.

“Night.”

“Night, Arthur.”

When Charles woke up, Arthur was busy cooking something up on a small fire. A new bow was resting next to them, as well as a few more bags of goods and a shotgun. Arthur was wearing an awfully familiar raccoon hat. Charles opened his mouth to speak, furious at what Arthur had done, heart beating quickly in his chest. But at Arthur’s lopsided grin and offer of fresh food Charles was unable to do anything but sigh and take the tin plate.

“I like your hat,” he offered quietly. Arthur grinned and shook his head, striped tail flopping back and forth.

“Pretty stylish, huh?” Charles had felt warm again. It had been an interesting day.

-

Charles took another taste, “still not convinced this isn’t poison.”

“Least we’ll die together, with full stomachs. Don’t sound too awful,” the voice rose from the ground. Arthur had rolled onto his stomach and was now staring at him intently. “Now gimme more of that.” An arm rose from the ground to receive the bottle. Charles shuffled closer and handed it over, fingers brushing, Arthur still staring him down. He coughed and looked away finally but didn’t move back to the fire- easier to share the bottle when closer. Arthur didn’t move away either, so Charles figured it was fine.

“How about we don’t? Don’t think I’ve met a man with a death wish like you.”

“’Cept yourself ya mean?”

“Me?”

“Stealing an outlaw’s shit in the middle of the day in a law infested rat’s nest.”

“Told you before, figured I could take you.”

“And just see how that- Argh, fuck!” Arthur had somehow managed to pour the spirit across his face as he tried to drink it while lying flat on his back. Another pained noise emerged.

Charles just stared a moment, his friend a pitiful mess of liquor and leaves. He couldn’t help the chuckle, especially when Arthur frowned up at him- betrayed. “See, this is what I meant. Not threatening at all,” Charles said, and before he could stop himself, he used his sleeve to wipe the worst of the shine away from Arthur’s eyes.

“Fuck ya,” said Arthur, eyes scrunched closed at the intrusion, but he rolled closer all the same to dry the rest of his face on the side on Charles’s thigh. Arthur was clearly not a good drunk. He was still plastered to him as he uttered the slurred statement, “think I’m kinda drunk Carles.” Sure enough the bottle was half empty, discarded in the leaf litter. Charles himself was feeling a bit floaty from it all, and he recalled the first night sleeping by the fire, waking up to a tangle of limbs.

Arthur had kept his distance since then but had offered the occasional wink or nudge. Drawled out some awkward, joking propositions. Surely it wasn’t intentional, just some crude humor Arthur had picked up on the road, but Charles couldn’t help the spark he felt whenever Arthur joked or slung an arm around him. He wondered what Arthur had done to the trapper and was disgusted with himself for hoping Arthur killed him, hands around his throat, thighs holding him down as he struggled.

Arthur mumbled something into his leg, but Charles couldn’t catch a word, he may as well have been speaking another language. He finally went quiet, but when Charles tried to quietly slip away to tend to the fire, he found two blue eyes looking up at him, accusatory. So he didn’t move, just brushed a few twigs out from under him and settled alongside Arthur. It looked like his friend needed hug, so he gave him one, only to be himself trapped as Arthur returned it. But that was fine, they were drunk after all.


	2. Chapter 2

The map Arthur took to reading each night was ratty and torn- almost completely faded in places. But the detail was staggering, trails winding, little descriptions, even an assortment of animals and plants sketched right onto the map. Charles had never seen anything like it, mostly relying on his own memory for directions. But for all the meticulous documentation, Arthur had left this region blank, a gaping blankness to the page.

“Never been up in these hills?” Charles asked.

“Nope, usually go ‘round south. But I’m thinkin’ the fastest way to Central Holly is probably right through the center. ‘Sides, I need to fill in the local huntin’ situation now that I half know what hell what I’m doin’.”

Charles had been in this country before, not recently and not for long. But long enough. It was a rough terrain, treacherous and inclined to landslides in wet months like this. He’d heard it was filled with all sorts of shady types, Murphee country his father had called it, though he’d never any of them himself.

“Been here a while back, it’s rough. Maybe better to go south again.”

“Oh come on, you see this?” Arthur pointed to sparse map, “I only need a few more trips before I fill this one up. We’ve got guns and enough food for a week, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Maybe… just heard some stories about some rough folks out there.”

“I heard ‘bout ‘em- fabled creatures to scare children is all. You really think they’re a bunch of cannibals livin’ in the hills, skinnin’ everyone they stumble across?” Arthur laughed, clearly unconvinced. It was an annoying sort of laugh, even if they’re weren’t any crazed mountain men, the hills were sheer and dangerous.

“You in a rush?”

“I just don’t want to waste days trekking through a bunch of grass when there’s a better option. We’ve done more dangerous shit that a bit of climbin’.”

“And surely it won’t take that much longer to go around? I’ve been through this way, it’s not pleasant- may actually take us longer to navigate the cliffs.” Charles was getting annoyed and was struggling to hide it.

Arthur glared at him. “You can go ‘round. Meet me on the other side.”

“Why? None of that makes any sense.”

“I’m goin’ this way, if you don’t want to come with me, then don’t!” Charles could only glare back at the tone. Part of him wanted to take Arthur up on his asinine dismissal, to just get up and leave. He weighed his options, frustrated. But what if Arthur just disappeared into the forest? Or decided to just abandon Charles outright. The seconds passed, both of them angry.

“Fine, I’ll go with you if your map is really that important,” Arthur only looked angrier at that. Apparently, he wasn’t even gracious in victory.

“Fine.”

The trip was awkward after their stilted conversation, neither man even acknowledging each other for hours. Part of Charles wanted to start again, try again to explain to Arthur the specific reasons for advising against the trail, but another part just craved silence.

“You really don’t have to come with me if you don’t wanna,” Arthur said softly, not looking Charles in the eyes as they reached the tree line. He didn’t sound angry anymore, but clearly he was set on moving forward into the trees.

“I’ll go, I just think it’s mistake is all.” Arthur paused and chewed on his lip. He looked like he was about to say something more, but he didn’t, just turned to the trees and headed in. Charles heart sank but he followed him.

-

The first day in the woods wasn’t too bad if a little rocky. Charles had suggested forgoing the fire to keep themselves hidden from wandering eyes and Arthur had agreed easily despite the chill in the air. It was still a bit uncomfortable, but they settled into their usual routines and made it through the night. There was no mindless drinking or storytelling, but they’d cohabitated the tent long enough to know how to keep out of each other’s way.

Charles was on watch duty, eyes scanning the dark as he reflected on their tense conversation. He was mostly just baffled, Arthur had never been so worked up about little suggestions like that. They’d been taking their time wandering around the countryside and now all of a sudden Arthur was desperate to save a day? Charles just sighed, confused and unhappy. At least it was dry.

The following day, the rain began. It was more fog than an earnest storm, but it slowed them down and caused even Arthur to show upmost caution on the slopes. The horses were also struggling in the mud now and both men had elected to lead them instead of riding to alleviate the burden. Charles had noticed over their journeys that while Arthur was careless with himself, his new horse was treated gently and spoiled with sugar and constant affirmations. When Arthur talked to the horse, he sounded like a whole different person. Someone much too soft for this life.

As they continued into the gloom, Arthur stopped to collect the odd plant and mushroom and stuffed them into his bag. He looked almost guilty when he hung back to inspect something, but Charles didn’t respond one way or another- if this was Arthur’s idea of a good time, that was his own business. Charles just stayed quiet and helped scope out the best path, having more experience with the terrain.

By the third day they were filthy. Arthur had given up his foraging and attempts at filling in his map in the damp. Charles didn’t feel at all smug but similarly the anger had passed. He was just tired. Arthur seemed similarly dejected, his waterlogged clothing even worse for the weather than Charles’s own. Charles was shocked out of his mindless treading from an excited nudge.

“Look, a river!” Sure enough there was a river just visible from over the next hillside.

“Looking to swim now?”

“Maybe.” Charles snorted, they were cold and wet already. Arthur didn’t follow up with a correction.

“Seriously? You’re planning on going in?”

“Look at me Charles.” He looked a mess, mud sticking from his boots, cloths, face. Charles assumed he looked equally rugged. “Can’t get any wetter but I sure as hell could use a bit less mud. Wanna come?”

“No.”

“Right, not the most refreshing time for a swim…Sorry.” The little word seemed to hold weight, Arthur was finally looking him in the eyes for the first time in days. “Looks like there’s a decent clearing up there, I’ll be fast and join you. Maybe we can stay here tonight since it’s gettin’ late.” It was, and while Charles would do just about anything to stay out of a freezing river, some time off his feet sounded nice.

“Be careful, never know what’s out there.”

“Yeah, course.”

Charles began setting up camp automatically, not sparing much thought to where he was throwing everything. It’d be a rough night regardless. He’d been right though; the rough log was an amazing chair after a day on his feet and he almost felt peaceful enough to doze. But then he heard a subtle crunch of leaves, a footstep. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, giving no indication he’d heard but held his breath, listening to hone onto the source. Two soft beats, back and forth. It was something two legged, slowly creeping closer. His fingers drifted to the gun on his thigh, then to his knife instead. The gun wasn’t much more than a prop to scare of the masses, a worn-down thing that could only hold one shell at once. The seconds dragged on, neither one of them making any sudden movements.

Then suddenly the man broke out of the brush in a tangled mess of leaves and dirt just feet from Charles’s log, wild beard further obscuring his face like a mossy veil. He was simply armed with a hulking machete, and faster than he had any right to be. Charles prepared for the impact by drawing his own knife. But when two more men hurled themselves out of the foliage, Charles startled back, surprised at their numbers. They moved in a fluid sort of unison.

“Arthur!” he yelled out, hoping his friend was close enough to get the warning. But there was no response and the first man was almost on him.

He glanced off the first blow with the side of his knife but a second hidden knife sprung up and caught his wrist. Luckily it glanced off the bone, not thick enough to break through. Pain simmered beneath his skin but he pushed on, kneeing the man as hard as he could. As he fell back in a gasping heap Charles followed up with a quick kick to the knee. Howling filled the clearing and the other two men paused a few feet back, their own machetes poised to strike. One was eyeing the gun warily, the other simply looked crazed.

“Gimme ya gold, gonna kill ya, take ya gold and kill ya…” the man was drunk, or otherwise inebriated but his eyes were sharp, and he was tracking Charles movements as he mumbled nonsense.

“You’d best move back yourselves,” Charles said, but the two made to push forward.

He drew the gun in response and fired on the more coherent opponent, tearing through his calf messily. His friend stalled behind for a moment, considering the gun, but the chamber was empty and Charles had no time to reload. The man seemed to come to the same conclusion and the ensuing leap brought him down directly into Charles. They both went down hard but Charles was faster, and with a quick dodge the knife found itself stuck into the earth.

“Fuck ya, I’ll kill ya…”

Charles took the opportunity to push the man onto his back and hold him down by the shoulders. He was snapping and a struggling. Charles searched around for a rope or belt to immobilize the men but heard frenzied breathing behind him and whipped around from his position on the ground. The first man with the busted knee had somehow gotten himself up and rushed him, hands reaching for his neck. Charles could only grab the knife lodged in the dirt and push it upwards into the approaching man’s sternum. The weight behind the strike pushed the blade deep into his chest.

Charles struggled to pull it out of the still flailing man only to bring it home a second time. And a third. The man was still breathing hard and moving, but as the seconds passed the energy diminished more and more, and he slumped to the ground. Soon the man lay fully in the dirt, a twitch or two the extent of the movement. Charles just stared down in shock, absorbing the scene before him- dying man to his left, angry pair of eyes glaring out from under him. The third man was all but missing a leg below the calf and was hardly moving. There was blood everywhere. On the ground, his clothing, arms. He could even taste iron where it had splattered across his face.

He snapped back into himself and settled for using his own belt to secure the man, hands clumsy around the buckles. The balding, scraggly man spit the whole time but perhaps the violent demonstration eased the wildest of his threats. After Charles was sure he was secured he stumbled to his feet and took off for the river, hoping there weren't more. That Arthur hadn't been hit down near the water with no defense.

He could breathe again as he broke through the tree line and all but ran directly into Arthur. Arthur recovered first, eyes taking in the blood and dirt crusting his clothing, "the hell happened to you? I heard a gunshot!"

"Ambushed back at camp, I got them down but it was close- probably been stalking us a while now."

"Well shit, you tried to warn me before... You ain't hurt are ya?" A slight stinging in his hand, perhaps a black eye- Charles had been extremely lucky.

"Not really," Charles said, scanning the trees, not convinced they were safe. He’d only heard the one man, the other two seemingly manifesting from air. Arthur followed him back sheepishly, glancing around them. They could hear the assailants before they could see them and when Charles turned to Arthur, he saw the eyes widen in surprise.

"They’re alive?"

Charles nodded as they filed into the camp, eyes skirting around the trees surrounding them. Arthur finally came to a stop before the downed man with blood pooling and trickling out from beneath him. With a quick boot to the side he flipped him, revealing the grisly sight. The knife was still lodged in his chest at an odd angle, blood soaking the whole shirt front.

"Damn," Arthur gave Charles an appraising look, "you took care of him." Charles felt sick. Arthur made a circuit around the camp and he was reminded of a cougar lazily circling its injured prey. Soon the next man felt the press of a boot on his chest. "What you wanna do with him?" Arthur asked Charles, to which he got a blank look.

"Could leave him out here."

"Yeah, we can leave ya for your little friends if you tell us who the hell you are and how many more there are?" Arthur said to the man, speaking lazily, boot pressing down on him.

The man just growled out curses again, mangled leg leaking all over as he struggled. Arthur stared down at him for a few seconds before drawing his revolver. He shot the man in the head point blank, the sound ringing out in through the forest. Charles watched as he looped around to give the final man a matching bullet to the forehead.

Arthur finally spoke, eyes on the ground, "I’m sorry. I shoulda listened to you 'bout these woods. You was right. Was just startin’ to worry ‘bout business at camp…" Charles could only nod back, numb. Arthur got to work untying the man, his expression unchanged, blank at the chaos around them. "This yours?" He held up the belt and Charles took it silently.

The road was tense that afternoon, neither talking much- deep in their own thoughts. The edge of the forest beckoned to them, and as they emerged from the gloom, more fog and clouds stretched out across the grassland. Charles had never killed a man before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should have just listened to Charles and gone around.


	3. Chapter 3

In his twenty years, Charles had gotten into bloody fist fights, stolen countless bags, and ridden away on the odd horse. He wasn't a lawful man, desperation governing his world, but for all the blood and hardship he’d avoided murder. There'd been some close calls, strangers beaten down and abandoned unconscious on the road. Perhaps some of them _had_ died of infection or exposure, but Charles was saved from watching their gruesome ends firsthand. Now, it was all he could think of- how he’d repeated plunged the knife into the man’s chest even after he’d stopped struggling. The satisfaction of finally winning the battle.

Clearly Arthur had encountered more bloodshed than him- there had been no hesitation or remorse as he ended those men. He hadn’t even mentioned them afterward as the two of them had hurried off, leaving the corpses where they’d fallen. They’d finally settled down for a rest, the horses in much need of some downtime. Charles threw some meat and beans together, neither had a chance to eat lunch earlier. Arthur was hunched over his supplies, as he had been for the last hour. The day was quiet, but the odd tension that’d been looming over them was easing with every minute spent in the open air. The rain clouds were still threatening from above, but hadn’t spilled yet.

“Foods almost done. Then we head out again?” Charles asked.

“Sure, I’m almost ready to go. Just gotta finish cleanin’ my revolver, takes a lot of time if you do it right." Arthur carefully passed the gun to him. "It ain’t the most practical thing in the world but it’s been with me too long to leave behind.” It was well worn but ornately detailed and must have been worth a lot sometime long past. The grooves looked worn and especially difficult to work around. Charles took the somewhat misplaced attempt at conversation as a sign that Arthur wanted to leave the ugliness of the forest behind.

“I can see you’ve put a lot of care into it.”

“Yeah, well it was a gift from someone important. Made sure not to ruin it like I did for some of the others… Don’t tell nobody but I must’ve lost a good dozen of the things along the way.” he trailed off. “Seems like gifts come with a heavy burden sometimes, huh?”

Charles thought it a bit. “Sounds like maybe we’ve had a different experience,” he said, not remembering receiving many gifts. There had been small things when he was a child- a toy horse, or a bit of candy. But nothing so large as to incur a debt or burden as Arthur suggested. And nothing that he still carried with him, what he had on his back and in his bag was all he could carry and all he needed. Sometimes he thought of finding something more permanent, collecting little stupid trinkets to line the walls but they were all just dreams, so at odds with everything he’d lived.

Charles watched Arthur finish up his chores, thoughts drifting back to their day. He didn’t feel guilty exactly, the man he’d killed had been violent and very much deserving of his fate, but Charles felt filthy for it. Thought about Arthur, even more blood on his hands. His affection for the man despite it.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Arthur said and hurried over to the little fire to engulf his food. He blinked down at the stew in surprise as Charles finished up his own bowl. “This is really good!”

“It’s the same things we’ve been eating for days,” Charles informed him, confused.

“Yeah, but it tastes better now- in the open. I can actually focus on enjoyin’ it.” Charles supposed he could understand, but his own food still tasted dull on his tongue. 

-

Hours later it seemed that all the effort Arthur put into brushing down the horses and cleaning his guns had been for nothing. Every inch of them was splotchy with cold mud and his face stung from the cutting intensity of the small droplets. It was an odd storm, wind whipping the modest rainfall into something brutal and mean. He was cold and could tell Arthur was fighting the same chill from the quiver of his shoulders.

“Thought we’d left this back in those damn woods,” Arthur said after an especially tedious gust. “Feel like the wind is passing right though me.”

“Yeah, best we find some shelter.”

Arthur looked around them hopelessly “Where?” Charles didn’t have an answer, the grasslands extended around them in a massive sprawl. The soft earth was on its way to marsh status, even with the canvas tent they’d be soaked from below if they attempted stopping here. Even the woods had offered more protection from the elements than this open country. In the distance the hills began to roll and a few trees popped up, but nothing nearby.

They kept on trekking until the sun fell away behind them. Lantern light was impossible in the rain, and they were forced to slow to a crawl, unwilling to risk their horse’s ankles with heavy riding through the mud. Charles had already resigned himself to riding through the night when they got their first sign of civilization. The absolute darkness around them was the only reason they’d spotted the settlement, tucked away in the hillside as it was. Smoke rose from a collection of chimneys and fires shone through cloudy windows. The buildings where shoddy and rough, many with drawn curtains and barricaded doors and no people walked the streets. At first he was convinced they’d find nothing but private homes, unwilling to put up a rough pair like them, but at the end of the bend past the main cluster was an aged inn, sign swinging wildly in the wind.

“Well this is odd. Didn’t even know this little place was here.”

“You’ll have to mark it down on your map.” The comment was pointed and they both knew it, but Arthur just smirked back at his own mocking expression.

“Sure will.”

They hurried to dismount and escape the rain, desperate enough to accept the steep fee of three dollars a night. Arthur just shook his head eagerly and pulled three dollars out of his billfold, not even attempting to combat the outrageous price.

“Where are you boys coming in from then?” the innkeeper was a thin older man wearing an even more ancient vest. The lobby was bare and dusty but thankfully dry. Dead stuffed animals were posed, deer heads mounted to the walls, racoons running across the windowsills.

“Been huntin’ but the weather turned. Figured we’d need to hole up a while.” Arthur smiled, did his best impression of a well-adjusted and non-threatening man.

“Any success?”

“Sure. My friend here is a great hunter, we got a few deer a couple days back. Sold ‘em off down in town.” The innkeeper seemed suddenly more interested, a hunter himself perhaps.

“That right? It’s a rough country out here- take what we can get, couple deer should help out immensely. Glad we get some travelers coming through at least.” The three dollars made more sense.

-

The room was a bit tight and oddly decorated, busy flowery wallpaper wrapping around the walls, framed photographs of horses and scenery hung around them in an almost nonsensical pattern of black and white. With the shadows casted by their twin lanterns, the room was almost nauseating. The beds were lumpy and seemed to consume all that touched them, pulling them into a mass of feathers and cotton. Seemed like it was a welcome change for Arthur though, who had already collapsed back onto his, boneless with his boots still on, sticking off the end of the bed. He was slowly disappearing.

“This is pretty nice.”

“I suppose.”

“Not a fan of inns?”

“Just not used to them. Seems a little unsettling to stay trapped in four walls after spending so much time on the road- very enclosed. That window isn’t even big enough to fit through.”

“What? You plannin’ on climbin’ in and out through the window? We got doors you know.” It was true, but the space truly was claustrophobic, the two beds taking up almost the entire length of the room. “Besides,” Arthur somehow managed to escape the bed and made it to the window, “I think I may be able to fit through here it I had to.” He opened the pane and stuck his torso out to emphasize the point. Charles couldn’t help the spark of concern, it was a long way down and he’d seen Arthur fall on his ass enough already.

“You maybe.”

“Me definitely. You though? Heh, won’t know till we try ‘spose. Well, you’d better enjoy it- this cost us a good three bucks.”

“I’ll try. Enjoy not being wet at least, despite your best efforts.” It was a weak attempt to pull Arthur from the windowsill, much of the water rolling of the roofing harmlessly. Arthur finally pulled himself back to solid ground and shut the window. And down he went, into the mattress again.

They took turns creeping out of the little room in search of a bath and Arthur elected to shave, transforming into an even younger man. Charles had always figured Arthur was older than him but now he wasn’t so sure. If Arthur noticed him staring, he didn’t comment, just spent the evening bent over his journal. Charles could tell he was drawing something from the irregular movements and scratching but didn’t intrude, just sorted his bag and contemplated the map- already updated with a little skull drawing and a warning, ‘shit country, muddy.’ He counted their money, $79.52- not a huge amount but enough to get by. Clearly Arthur wanted to find something much better. Arthur finally broke the silence as Charles mind wandered, sleepiness forcing him into a haze.

“Did you see that bath attendant?”

“The redheaded one?”

“Yeah, wasn’t she a little weird?” Charles had noticed her intent stare enough to become sufficiently self-conscious. She’d asked if he needed any ‘help,’ but he’d quickly declined. But instead of leaving him in peace, she had just watched him the whole time. She was attractive and dressed to emphasize her features but the idea of bathing while being stared down made him miss bathing in the river. He’d had a few sips of the herbal tea she’d pushed into his face but had stopped short of the heavy bottle or liquor she’d offered, wanting nothing more than to escape to his and Arthur’s cluttered little room.

“Figured she wanted something, the way she wouldn’t leave. Seems like this town's desperate for money,” Charles said, embarrassed- suddenly nervous Arthur would take offense, the older man's habits no secret between them.

“Well she did a god-awful job at bein’ enticin’.” Arthur hurried to clarify at his unimpressed glance, “it was just odd I’m sayin’. Was worried they were forcin’ her into somethin’. But then I tried to speak with her ‘bout it, subtly ya know? Offered to bring her away with us. But then it got even weirder. She just laughed at me and told me she weren’t no common whore, that folks around here are careful is all. What’s that supposed to mean? She thinks we’re a couple thieves looking to steal all their soap and towels?”

“You definitely would do that.”

“Not the point. I’m just sayin’ it was kinda creepy is all.” Arthur rearranged himself on the lumpy bed with a yawn. Charles was equally tired, finally starting to see the appeal of having a bed to lounge on. “She was kinda pretty though. Did you-” Charles threw a pillow at him.

“No, did _you_?”

“Me? Course not. I’m keepin’ this pillow by the way.” Arthur made of show of plumping up the pillow and falling back onto his pile but Charles figured Arthur was doing him a favor, there were way too many pillows on these beds. “May as well get some actual sleep after days of hell.” Arthur seemed to nod off instantaneously, breath evening out. Charles watched as he shoved the stack of pillows off the side of his bed in his sleep. He was drifting off himself, too thoroughly exhausted to even fret about the long day they’d had. The rain poured down outside, lulling him to sleep. But not enough to completely drown out the occasional scurrying of rats in the walls.

-

Charles woke with a start, confused and unsure where he was, mind filled with remnants of his dreams- faceless voices and shapes. He couldn’t recall what had manifested behind his eyes to startle him awake, but he was still shaking, and not just from cold. The darkness of the room thick around him, so much so that he could only close his eyes and sink his face into the pillow to escape it. The rats had calmed down at least. Other than quiet rain, everything was silent.

He couldn’t calm his heart though. He wanted to get up and tear himself out of this room and didn’t understand why. Wanted to rouse Arthur. But that didn’t make any sense and surely Arthur would be annoyed and embarrassed for his sake to see such a thing- a grown man afraid while safely secured indoors. Arthur with his hard eyes, and steady hand that’d probably taken down dozens of men. He was a real killer, behind the joking smile and gentle eyes. Had killed two officers in seconds, never even hesitating, had killed two more men just yesterday. He tried to focus on being quiet but couldn’t help the little gasping breathes.

He felt those eyes on his back. Arthur was awake and watching him shiver. He held his breathe, trying to settle himself down so he’d trust himself to speak, but the more he tried to calm himself the more frantic he felt. Why wasn’t Arthur saying anything? What must he be thinking now? Would he still even want to travel together anymore after seeing this weakness, if he knew Charles had never even killed anyone before yesterday. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Arthur,” he whispered, name stuttering on his lips. No responding voice but he heard rapid activity, a sudden movement from across the room. Had Arthur gotten up? He tried again. Nothing. Charles finally turned his face towards the window. Arthur was now curled up, facing away from him- seemingly deep in sleep. Maybe he didn’t want Charles to know he was watching him. The rats began chewing in earnest, scuttering and gnawing. Charles could laugh, it was all so ridiculous. He settled for turning over, feeling his cheeks burning in shame as afterimages of his dreams flashed before his eyes.

He drifted in and out of sleep, never fully dropping into restful sleep but bobbing at the surface. The dreams came in fragments this time, little glimpses of dark things, jail cells, rats pattering along, swarming. He woke up to a bright flash of flickering light, saw eyes on him, everything went dark. Swaying and rustling. Then nothing.

“Arthur!” he broke out again, louder this time, his own voice unbidden in it’s plea. He heard the other man jerk awake and sit up immediately, heard him grab his gun. Always on edge and ready fight, even now, shocked from sleep.

“What’s wrong?” the voice was so concerned that Charles almost wished something was actually amiss so he’d be justified in his own actions.

“I-” Charles began but stopped, unable to hide the shake in his voice. Didn’t know how to explain the panic to Arthur. This wasn’t the first attack he’d had, but it’d been a long time- had figured he’d outgrown this brand of fear. Arthur was moving around now, lighting the little lantern between them, the light sparking to life hurt his eyes and cast long shadows all around them. No hiding now. “Everything’s fine,” he finally got out, struggling to escape Arthur’s confused stare. “Does it smell like fire?”

“I just lit the lantern. Are you sure you’re alright, you look kind of… not alright.”

“Just a dream.” Arthur looked conflicted at this, probably uncomfortable. “You can go back to sleep.”

“Do you want to talk about it? I’ve dreamt all sorts of shit before, gettin’ killed and stuff, alligators eatin’ me, fallin’ off cliffs.” He trailed off with an awkward laugh, “just tryin’ to say it’s alright, I don’t mind.”

“It’s nothing, I hardly even remember it. I just woke up to a weird feeling, like someone was in here.” Arthur looked around them, at the modest empty space between the furniture. Clearly he was trying to be helpful, to assure Charles there was nobody here, but when he stumbled over to the wardrobe and revealed it’s empty contents Charles only felt more foolish. Likewise, the latch on the door could only be opened from the inside, this was probably the most secure they’d been since meeting each other. “Probably just the rats.”

“Rats?”

“Yeah, you can hear them in the walls if you’re quiet. Innkeeper mentioned them to me yesterday when we arrived, said they had a pretty bad problem.” Arthur made a face and walked over to the wall.

“Didn’t notice, not surprised you did though. Shut up you damn rodents!” he said, with an abrupt knock on the wall. The reverberating sound was louder than expected, ringing out through the room. “Sounds like they have a lot of space back there.”

“You don’t think…”

“Think what?” Charles didn’t respond right away, staring at Arthur poised near the wall. He was acting crazy, of course Arthur was confused. “Guess we’re both up already, may as well have some coffee and pack up.”

“Thought you’d want to sleep in since we have real beds for once,” Charles said.

“Don’t think I’ll be able to sleep now, after that jarrin' wake up call. Thought you were dyin' of somethin'.” His voice was joking. Charles couldn’t help the selfish part that was glad he’d woken Arthur to pull him out of his irrational fears.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Like I said, you’ve been the one watchin’ our backs the last couple weeks- it’s not bad to be overly cautious.”

And that’s how Charles found himself leaned back against the offending wall next to Arthur, little lantern between them, a second cup of coffee in his hand. Like the day before, Arthur was surprisingly quiet- but the silence was peaceful this time, Charles felt no need to explain himself. Arthur didn’t question him about his dreams or delusions, just sat to his side, an encouraging presence.

“What were you drawing yesterday?” Charles asked. It seemed like a harmless question, an easy was to break the silence.

“Just berries and plants. Among other things- passes the time well enough. I’m creatin’ a log of everything I find in the woods and such. Cataloging the effects. It’s also kinda relaxing, focusin’ on something stupid to pass the time instead of all the usual bullshit.” Charles recalled Arthur stuffing plants into his bag. He’d been annoyed then, but now he can’t help but feel fond.

“Hmm. I know a good deal about plants- I could help you identify some of them maybe, if I can see the drawings.” Arthur froze.

“I don’t know if you wanna see that. I’m not much of an artist.”

“Fine, I’ll stop prying. But if we find anything interesting in the future, I’ll tell you what I know. My mother used to sell herbs to the local doctor and I followed along.”

“Must’ve been a smart lady.”

“She knew her way around; she’d be much more helpful but you’re stuck with me.”

“Don’t sound like much of a problem. Besides, now I won’t need to taste all the damn plants.”

“You what?” Charles stared at him and even in the low lantern light he could see Arthur’s embarrassment at his incredulous tone.

“I only poisoned myself once! Just eat a little bit atta time.”

“So you’ve been running around, shooting folks and eating random plants from the forest floor before I came along?”

Arthur opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but after a few seconds of consideration he shrugged with a smile, “guess so.” Charles, while horrified, couldn’t help but laugh at the image of Arthur stumbling across a patch of poison oak, bending down and stuffing it into his mouth.

When the light of morning finally breached the windowsill, Charles found himself tired but content, the coffee and company settling whatever mood had fallen over him. Arthur had slouched over at some point, spilling his coffee- head resting clumsily against Charles’s shoulder. Water still drizzled down past the pane, but the wind was calm.

As soon as they were packed, Charles raced down the stairs, ready to hit the open road again. The innkeeper all but pushed the two of them out, hurried pleasantries mumbled out. The red-haired employee was a bit more casual from her position reclined on an ancient couch.

“How’d you sleep mister, that tea always works wonders for me?” she asked with a smile and a wink.

“Fine,” Charles forced out.

-

It was midafternoon when they reached the next real town hours later, still early enough to scope out the town and restock their bags. Arthur had fallen back into his old self and Charles was beginning to shake the panic. Arthur headed off to the mercantile shop as Charles tended to the horses. They intended on a quick stop in town before heading out to the surrounding woods to camp, as the earth was solid and dry at this elevation.

The horses were glossy and content by the time Charles was done, they’d been spoiled as Arthur no doubt browsed through the entire store catalog. Finally, Charles headed over to check on him with a sigh. But as he entered the store, he saw his friend glaring at a big heaping pile of cigarettes and chocolate bars on the counter.

“No money, no goods mister.” Arthur continued glaring. “Here though, for your trouble.” The shopkeeper uneasily pushed a single chocolate bar towards Arthur.

“Sure, thanks.” Arthur collected his bar and hurried to Charles and the door.

As they exited the building Charles jumped in, “what was that about?” Arthur just dropped the candy into Charles pocket before starting his agitated pacing on the wooden deck.

“Look at this!” Arthur whipped around and set his bag on the bench. He pulled out some random clutter and gun parts and finally located his coin purse. He opened it and dumped the contents on the bench. Sand- heaps of it. Charles just blinked at it, uncomprehending.

“What?”

“Exactly, someone stole all our money! One of my pistols is gone too, and an old worthless ring. We just had it all last night!”

Charles didn’t answer right away, still feeling paranoid and embarrassed for the night before. He recalled the sensation of being watched, the noises through the walls he’d discounted as figments of his panicked mind. “Maybe someone got into our stuff?”

“How would they have…” Arthur trailed off. Seemed to catch on to what Charles’s was implying. “You think they got into the room somehow?”

“Probably.” Arthur looked taken aback, blinked at him a few times- confused but trusting.

“Do we go back and force those damned creepy villagers to fork it up?” he finally asked. Charles considered, knew they probably should. It was a good chunk of money.

“We’re finally out of the rain up here. It’s nice.” It wasn’t an answer and Arthur looked like he wanted to argue. But he settled on sitting down on the nearest bench.

“Don’t fancy returnin’ myself,” Arthur replied finally, and Charles was irrationally grateful for it. 

After finding a comfortable patch of land to camp on outside of town, they split the chocolate bar, strategized their next move, and slept soundly through the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult to write, but now that the post-murder anxiety is done(?), the plot can continue.


	4. Chapter 4

“Bet that lady’s swimmin’ in diamonds, you see her dress?” Arthur said, clearly excited. 

“Hard to miss her, with her parading around town like that. Lots of guards though, pretty unusual for a livestock town like this.” They’d been holed up in the little camp all day trying to settle on a plan. They’d discussed a few potential targets, but Arthur was fixated on this one particular lady for some reason. Perhaps it was the way she had glared and subtly kicked dirt at the two of them as they sat minding their own business in town, perhaps it really was just money oriented but either way, Arthur kept looping back on this particular job. 

“Maybe somethin’ less that legal is goin’ on- an underground diamond smugglin’ business or somethin’ You don’t keep that many guards if you’re a perfectly respectable, normal family.” Charles nodded, even if it wasn’t diamonds, there had to be something hidden away on the sprawling homestead they’d tracked her to the day before. The crude plan they’d thrown together was looser than Charles’s liked, but serviceable. But even at the thought of money or fantastical gems, Charles couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach. As soon as they stumbled across a large taking, Arthur would want to return to van der Linde. The last few weeks had been relaxed and to put it bluntly- fun. The easy friendship and security of Arthur watching his back filled him with a warmth he hadn’t felt in years and a selfish part of him wanted to keep it all to himself. 

In the week since landing in this little town, they’d spent three days tracking down some woman’s prized pet beavers, found themselves waist deep in a filthy marsh in search on a lost wedding band. Had spent a whole afternoon watching a wild herd of mustangs with binoculars in a failed attempt to catch Arthur a faster horse. The man made a valiant attempt at breaking the thing, but perhaps the choice of the largest, most spirited horse of the group had been an act of hubris. Arthur had stayed on for a good two minutes- an eternity for such a task- but eventually was flung four feet in the air. Charles rushed to his side but Arthur just laughed, if a bit hysterically. 

“Big bastard won. Why’d ya let me try that?” 

“So it’s my fault now? I seem to remember warning you at least three times.” 

“Sometimes when dealin’ with idiots you need to be more forceful.”

Charles snorted, “so you’re giving me permission to restrain you whenever you have an asinine idea.”

“Well maybe not, if you wanna put it like that.” They’d just slept out in the open that night, Arthur too sore to be rousted from his prone position. They’d gotten a few insect bites and grass stains but it was the most comfortable Charles had been in days.

But whenever Charles thought forward to their life with Arthur’s gang, he saw flashes of murder, Arthur being sent on suicidal missions and into random men’s beds. Of them dying by the side of the road or at the end of a rope. As they prepared for the job, Charles couldn’t shake his dread but if Arthur noticed his mood, he didn’t mention it. 

-

Their first major job was turning into a disaster and Charles was starting to doubt they’d get off with even a dollar. He’d assumed Arthur also noticed the dog- some sort Shepard puppy- as they passed the binoculars back and forth earlier, but apparently not. Their plan was simple; Arthur was to cause a stir in the barn to draw some of the hired guns out, then lock them inside. The barn was far enough from the main house that shouting wouldn’t carry and if everything aligned perfectly, Charles could make a break for the front door. He’d enter and incapacitate any remaining people. Not fancy, but workable. 

But now, the plan was derailed before it even began. The dog kept barking, and prancing about- happy to find a new playmate. Charles could see the friendly assault going from his own vantage point near the house but could do nothing to help. Lights flickered on upstairs and Charles cursed. Arthur reached out towards the dog and the barking suddenly went quiet. A shame. He saw a blur of movement running off into the woods, limp bundle and all- Arthur was surely hiding the corpse somewhere its owners wouldn’t stumble across as the man with a shotgun emerged from the front door. 

“Riley! Here girl!” he shouted, edge to his voice. “What’d you find out here?” Even from the distance, Charles could see how massive the man was, broad shoulders tense as he called out after the dog. He began his surveying of the yard, grumbling the whole time. “Get the fuck out here boys, the damn dog’s worked up again!” He finally yelled out, clearly frustrated. Another two followed, filing further and further from the barn. Charles figured he should turn back and regroup, but the thought of Arthur eagerly reciting all the things they’d be able to buy earlier pushed him on. Steak, new saddles for their horses, new ‘faster’ horses, new boots to match the bandana Arthur had looted off a corpse. Charles sighed- he had to do this. 

He made one a last survey of the field, then darted towards the door. It wasn’t in their plan, but neither had been shanking a dog and leading the guards in the altogether opposite direction. After raising a mirror to the glass and finding the way clear, Charles hurried into the now unlocked front door. A scratching on the side door got his attention and he crept over. Arthur. With a relieved sigh he unlatched the door and let him in. 

“Charles! Thank god it’s just you. Couldn’t get them into the barn- the fuckin’ things locked up and they’re down in the pasture anyway.”

“Guess our plan is scrapped.”

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Let’s just hurry and see what we can find.” The room was dark, embers from a dying fire the only light. The house was surprisingly- simple functional furniture lined the room, no decorations on the walls. Perhaps the whole place was a front. They quickly scoped out the downstairs bedroom and found a few trinkets but as they moved to climb the stairs, Charles heard footsteps behind them. 

“Hey. They’re coming back.”

“Already? What kind of shit job did-” Charles broke him off and all but lugged the man behind him as he ducked into a door. He’d expected a cleaning cupboard, but the staircase betrayed a basement. Footsteps above them boomed- more than one person now as they hurried down the stairs, cringing at the occasional squeak of wood under their boots. When they finally turned the corner, lantern light illuminated the face of a young woman seated at a table in the middle of the sparsely furnished basement. She gasped and stood up, hands out in front of her in defense. 

Charles wasn’t ready for Arthur to vault over the table and grab her by the throat, dragging her backwards. “You scream, I cut your damn throat.” The woman gaped silently, eyes bulging in fear. Arthur reinforced his promise with a hunting knife, held snuggly against her neck.

“Arthur,” he hissed. It wasn’t right, the way Arthur was dragging her. 

“Well what’ya want me to do? Let her scream and bring the whole pack of them down here? ‘Sides, look! She has a gun!”

Sure enough, the woman was wearing a leather holster around her waist. It contrasted sharply with the pink ruffled dress. Arthur and Charles just looked at each in disagreement for a moment. Enough time for a pointy boot to slam into Arthur’s shin. 

“Fuck,” Arthur managed as she followed up by bringing her heel down on his foot. Her neck was bloody from the stray blade slipping, but she wheeled away and drew her gun all the same. She backed up, clearly terrified as she pointed the gun at Arthur’s head. They’d underestimated her. Charles’s breath caught in his throat but she hesitated at the last second, eyes wide and instead shot the knife right out of Arthur’s hand. It was a good shot, especially given the gun looked more like an antique than a functional firearm. And very audible.

“Freeze, both of you. Don’t move one inch!” she shouted, voice quivering but determined as she leveled the revolver at Arthur’s head again. She looked young, probably no older than sixteen, hair coiled into tight bunches in a similar fashion to the woman they’d tailed. But Arthur didn’t freeze, hand flying to his waist. Only to come up short- hand stumbling on an empty holster. “I warned you…” Charles didn’t consciously will his body to movement but somehow found himself slamming into Arthur, pushing him to the ground. Too late though, the gun went off. And backfired. 

Screams came from behind them as Charles and Arthur stared at each other in shock on the floor. Charles recovered first and scrambled to his feet. A few hurried paces and he had the woman by her throat now, no gentler than Arthur had been. She made a frankly disturbing noise, face covered in blood and soot. But was still upright and able to spit at him. 

“Like my friend said, one move and your throat’s getting cut from ear to ear,” he growled. He reckoned she wasn’t going anywhere- while the cuts didn’t look deep, her eyes were covered with debris and oozing. The footsteps above were hurried now, commotion drawing them over. “Arthur, get behind me, she’s our ticket out of here.” The other man scrambled and collected his stolen gun from the folds of her skirt to train on the doorway. Charles pressed his knife closer as something caught his eye. A cabinet was open a crack, just visible from this position. Arthur followed his eyes.

The footsteps grew closer, but Arthur darted to the cabinet and flung it open. Bundles of flower stems, vials, a couple small wads of cash- all neatly arranged. Arthur let out a gleeful sound and started stuffing everything he could hold into his knapsack. 

“Morphine! They’re dealing in poppys!” Arthur finished loading the sack and rounded on her, ignoring the staircase altogether in his excitement. “Where’s the rest of your cash? You got a safe?” Arthur asked frantically, his recovered gun trained on the woman’s head. 

“Not our most pressing problem now,” Charles hissed, the first man had made it halfway down the staircase. 

“Miss Opal!” the man shouted, indignant. She just whined; windpipe distorted by the blade. Arthur was shocked out of his impromptu interrogation, gun jumping back into position reflexively.

“Miss Opal’s head’s gonna be shreds if ya don’t back the hell up mister.” Arthur yelled, fully recovered from the distraction. Another man emerged, gun drawn. The two gunmen hesitated then exchanged a glance, silently debating their chances. Charles blood was beating thick in his veins and he wished he’d never made the dumb decision to proceed once the plan fell to shambles. 

“One more chance, move back up them stairs,” Arthur shouted. They hesitated again so Charles pushed the blade forward a little, just for show. Miss Opal screamed, and they fell in line, moving backwards- step by step. The ensuing maneuver was less than smooth, the struggling lady tripping on the steps, but they got there. Arthur followed close behind, his own gun trained on the men- back and forth between their heads like a pendulum. 

The third man was a surprise, jumping into action as they breached the doorway- immediately shooting at them. But the first two shoots missed by a couple feet, clearly fear was aiming the pistol. The gunfire came to an abrupt stop as one of the first gunmen barked out a ceasefire and jumped in front of them, shielding Miss Opal with his own body. The massive man took a few steps forward and all but knocked the gun out of the other man’s hands.

“Stop you fool! Do you not see who they’ve got.”

“But-”

“But nothing, do as they say. Not like they got nothin’ good anyway- couple bucks maybe. Let them out.”

The man growled to himself but complied and the little group awkwardly slunk past the three older men. Once the three of them breached the front door, Charles flung the woman back towards them a bit guiltily. Then it was a frantic race. The ground was lumpy, and the fog and mud complicated their path, but the sound of rifle fire booming out behind them was plenty encouragement. They didn’t say a word until they reached the tree line, both gasping for breath. It didn’t sound like anyone was pursuing them, at least not yet.

Arthur aggressively patted his arm in wild reassurance. “Least we know they got somethin’ good. We can regroup and come up with a better plan… that was shit… we almost died,” a dark laugh, “maybe if we-”

“I don’t like this Arthur.”

“What?”

“I don’t think we should go back. This isn’t how…” he tried to keep his voice steady.

“Oh,” Arthur paused his frenzied speech. “Yeah, okay. Let’s just go then.” Charles looked up in shock, Arthur was not one to give up easily after becoming fixated on something. “Let’s just find somewhere to camp and eat somethin’, okay?”

“Yeah.” 

“Oh shit, I forgot.” Arthur darted off into the trees again, and for an agonizing few moments Charles was sure he’d returned to the homestead to finish the job. But he soon reemerged from the trees, furry bundle in tow. “Almost left this little guy behind.” The dog corpse wiggled a little from it’s bonds. 

“Is that?”

“Yeah, this is Copper!”

-

A couple hours later they found a protected gully good for camping, a bit further out than the night before in case the town fell into high alert after their stunt. Neither had mentioned the failed job yet. Arthur was still cooing to the skinny dog who was no longer hog tied but still subjected to a rope fashioned into a leash.

“Shit,” Arthur said, shaking his hand and revealing a bite. It looked clean, no blood at least. “Little thing was so hungry she mistook my hand for dinner. Here, eat the meat- not me.” The dog seemed less fearful of them after dinner, even licked Charles’s hand briefly before slinking off to gnaw at her paw. 

“Can we talk?” Charles finally asked. Arthur froze, before looking up sheepishly. 

“Sure.”

“I meant it, back there.” Arthur didn’t answer. “If this is what it’ll be like with van der Linde…I. I’m not sure I want to go.” Charles felt like a traitor, like he’d tricked Arthur into thinking he was the same brand of hardened criminal as himself. But he was worse, he’d relied on Arthur to do all the killing for him while judging from afar. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, well his plans are much better than mine. That’d never happen on his watch.” Arthur quickly assured him, looking nervous. “And Hosea, they usually plan out our jobs for days before we do ‘em. Big stuff sometimes too, like bank heists- all neatly arranged.” That hardly put Charles at ease.

“I thought we were going to die like that. For nothing.”

“That’s just how it’s gotta be for those like us.” Arthur refused to meet his eyes, words thin. 

“I’m not so sure of that.”

Arthur didn’t respond immediately but eventually rose from his position near the dog and settled down closer to the modest fire. “Tell me what ya mean?” Charles was caught off guard by his wistful expression, “what else could we do? We don’t exactly got an in to polite society.”

Charles wasn’t sure what he’d meant himself, he’d just desperately never wanted to find himself in a bloody basement firefight again. But now Arthur was sitting real close, waiting for his answer. “I don’t know- we could just be hunters in the woods somewhere. Find a cabin maybe, somewhere nice- not like that leaking fish shack. Train that new dog of yours. Not die for some flowers.” Charles felt his cheeks warm, he’d never meant to reveal his thin little fantasy, but suddenly he needed Arthur to understand.

Arthur nodded along, “that don’t sound too bad.” But his eyes were wandering to the satchel, distracted . He dumped the contents in front of them- syringes, bottles, and money. “This take actually ain’t too bad either. I was upset ‘bout not finding their safe but here’s,” he paused to count the bills, “a good two hundred in cash. And there’s this…” he trailed off, gesturing to the syringes. Charles eyed them cautiously. “I hear they make ya feel real good. What you think?” Charles found blue eyes trained on his face.

“I think that’s the start of nothing nice Arthur. I hear it’s addicting.”

“So is whisky, but that’s never hurt anyone so bad.”

“You sure about that?”

“No,” Arthur responded, somber now, “sorry Charles. Just feelin’ weird is all- thinkin' 'bout goin' back and all. You find a nice cabin to squat in, I’ll take you up on it. I call the bed though.”

“I find the cabin and you get the only bed?”

“Well I guess I’d share.” Arthur looked up and called the little dog over, “I’m sure there’s room for us both girl!” He hugged the dog and laughed at Charles’s expression. The tension had dropped but hadn’t dissipated fully. Joking aside, Arthur was clearly set on going back to the gang soon and Charles didn’t know what to do. Wasn’t sure what he’d agree to if it was Arthur asking.


	5. Chapter 5

He woke up in a better mood to quiet barking.

“You little shit. Who said you could be yappin’ at this hour?” Arthur asked fondly, “see, you just woke up Charles.” The tail’s movement amplified as Arthur collected a stick. “You know this game?” Sure enough, as soon as Arthur flung the stick off into the woods the little dog flew off after it. “Pretty cute, huh?”

Charles couldn’t argue with that, they both made a pretty nice sight- the tension of the previous night depleted. The red dog Riley, or rather Copper, was a welcome addition to their little party and Charles made sure to cook extra meat. After a few minutes of mindless stick throwing, Arthur joined him at the fire. “What you say we try an make it to Tacksville today. Map says it’s pretty close. And the gang’s camp’s nearby, day out maybe.”

“Yeah. We can stock up on more supplies. And boots,” Charles said somberly. He hadn’t realized the van der Linde gang was nearby but that certainly explained Arthur’s desperate energy the past few days.

“What’s with that tone? Look at this.” Arthur grabbed his ankle and hoisted his boot up to eye level to reveal the fraying, worn edges.

“Hmm, okay- I see what you mean. You may have problem impressing the people of Tacksville with terrible scuffs like that.”

“Maybe they aren’t who I’m tryin’ to impress.” Charles’s mouth went dry and he looked away, Arthur was very close. “I just like having nice boots is all, a hobby or somethin’.”

“’Boots’ are your hobby now?” Charles’s laughed at Arthur, boot still levitating before them, “you’re real interesting you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Still want the damn boots though- let’s go.”

-

Tacksvilles was a small, old town at it’s core- but fashionable new development had popped up in a halo around the decrepit town center. A startling disparity. They checked into a run-down inn first to deposit their now considerable pack of belongings including many beaver skins and foraged carrots but kept all the money in their pockets this time. Charles melted onto the wide bed to rest while Arthur got busy messing with his satchel.

“Hey, I got some business in town, be gone a little while.”

Charles couldn’t imagine what that meant but shrugged, “okay, I’ll be around.” As soon as he left the room, Charles got to work on the collar for Copper. He’d been weighing over the design on the ride through town. They’d let Copper run alongside them without the leash while in the forest, but upon arriving in the town it became clear the little dog was a menace, running off to harass strangers and topple children in the name of herding.

Charles had plenty of tanned leather in his pack and with a bit of trial and error he was able to fashion a strip into a perfectly dog sized circlet. The designs took a while, but he had time, using his knife to etch little flower silhouettes into the leather, reminded of the designs Arthur liked to make in his journal. Arthur had told him he liked juniper berries and had spent large amounts of time drawing wildflowers on their travels so Charles made sure to carve little clusters of these favored plants into the leather. After a couple hours of work and it was finished. He was unsure if he should just quietly secure it to Copper or give the gift to the man. He hoped Arthur didn’t think it was stupid.

With a sigh he set off into town in search of food. Arthur wasn’t anywhere in sight. Not in the mercantile shop, or the saloon but as Charles settled on giving up and saving something for the man, he spotted him exiting the train station of all places. With a little wave he joined him.

“That took way too long. You hungry?” Arthur asked. Charles nodded, sometimes he was sure Arthur could read his mind.

“Yeah, let’s get some steak. Not sure we should be splurging on new horses yet, but we’re on track otherwise.” Sure enough, Arthur was wearing his new boots, clean and scuff free.

“Sounds good. I could eat ten steaks,” Arthur said.

Over the fresh meat Charles was tempted to ask Arthur what he’d been up to, but something stopped him- surely he would have told Charles earlier if he wanted him to know. His father’s voice filtered into his mind unbidden ‘don’t you talk too much boy, ask the wrong question and it’s over.’ Perhaps it was too late in general- Charles had talked more in the last month than in the last year, had exposed his own heart a bit too much.

“So what’d you do while I was strugglin’ to write a damn letter,” Arthur asked.

Charles was given his answer. “Not much. That took a whole day?”

“Didn’t kill anyone or steal any more dogs, if that’s what you’re wonderin’. Just got stopped up with what to say to Dutch- I’ve been gone a long while and part of me is convinced he’s gonna throw me out after this stunt. Or worse… he’s got a code ya know?”

“And you want to go back?” Charles asked, startled, “to a man you think’ll kill you?” Arthur looked embarrassed at that.

“I didn’t mean it like that exactly. I’m just bein’ dramatic is all.” He poked at the steak a bit more and continued, “I’ve never been gone this long.”

“Sorry.”

“Ain’t your fault, it’s my fault- was set on findin’ something good and I guess I got comfortable doin’ whatever we want out in the woods. Felt nice, bein’ free like that. Guess it must feel pretty normal to you.”

Charles didn’t mention the fear of sleeping alone in raider country, too exhausted to keep his eyes open but too afraid to sink into a real restful sleep. Or the uncertainly in even walking into a store alone, unsure if he’d be served or forced out at gunpoint. Of the nights thinking about food. Arthur certainly knew the sting of similar burdens all too well, gang or no.

Arthur must have noticed something on his face- he quickly followed with, “not criticizin’ of course, I just mean it’s kinda nice, not having a whole group of people dependin’ on ya.”

“Sometimes it’s nice. But I think I prefer traveling with you.” Arthur graced him with a genuine smile.

“I mentioned you in the letter, not by name- just that I met someone who might be interested. But I don’t mean to pressure you none, I get it if you don’t want to come. Been thinkin’ ‘bout what you said yesterday…”

“No,” he said quietly, “I want to go with you, I’ve been thinking about it to. I don’t know if I’ll be any good at living in a group like that, never have in the past, but you’re probably the best friend I’ve had.” He stopped there, the rest was unproductive- that he was nervous of the expectations that may be placed on him and a little jealous of all the gang members’ closeness to Arthur. That he’d picked up all sorts of confusing feelings he knew he shouldn’t entertain.

“Well I reckon you’re the only real friend I’ve got, gang or no,” Arthur laughed bitterly. “The lot of them are more like family than friends. Can’t really share jokes or drink with them neither- John’s too young and Dutch and Hosea get real worried when I drink more than a couple beers.” The rest of the meal was less tense, Charles worries and unbidden memories of his father quelled.

“So you want to get some drinks then? My treat,” Charles asked finally, if Arthur wanted to get drunk with a friend, he could try his best to perform. He recalled falling asleep curled up together after a bit of moonshine weeks before. Arthur beamed back.

“Course I do! Those are dangerous words though Charles- I can drink way more than you can afford.” Charles figured he was right, but he felt light and careless at the happiness in Arthur’s face.

-

It had devolved from there. Arthur had started off with two shots of whisky to Charles’s one, knocking them back with a practiced hand. They’d started the night telling stories of younger days on the road- hunting, oddities they’d stumbled across, generally idiocy. It was pleasant, clustered at the back of the room sharing a table like this and Charles felt more carefree than he had in days.

When Arthur hurried back to their table juggling a whole collection of shot glasses and beer glasses, Charles snorted out a laugh.

“Those all for you? Because I don’t know how much I can handle.”

“This could be my last real night of ‘crazy business’ before Dutch cuts me off, have to make it count. Sure you’ll be fine though, you handled yourself fine last time.” Arthur burst out laughing at the look he received.

“What does that mean, ‘making it count’?” Charles asked, curious. He took another sip of some sort of beer Arthur had slammed down in front of him- pacing himself as he prepared for whatever craziness was to follow.

“I don’t know, different every time. One time I stole a whole bunch of goats and hid them in my hotel room. They near ate all the curtains and shit all over the floor, felt kinda bad afterwards. We had to clear out real fast afterwards though, damn things gave us away. With their bleatin’ and all.”

“Got it, alcohol and goats.”

“One time I fucked-”

“A goat?” Charles asked mindlessly, the alcohol finally catching up to him. Arthur looked up at him in awe. Luckily, instead of anger, he just laughed until he hiccupped.

“No! I was gonna say the sheriff’s daughter- in the prison cell no less. Had to careful not to wake the man.” That answer was somehow just as shocking to Charles as the goat. He choked on his beer.

“I thought you weren’t so inclined?” It came out like a question.

“Why you so curious ‘bout my inclinations all of a sudden?” Charles didn’t have an answer to that, he was busy thinking about Arthur, wooing a lady from a prison cell. It was an amusing picture. “’Sides, I let her fuck me back with this sort of… well anyway, guess you don’t need to know the details of that… We all get curious sometimes and I was drunk. ‘Sides, she let me out of the cell after.” At that a couple scowling pairs of eyes drew over to them from the next table. Arthur started again, quieter this time, “It don’t matter though, feelings were never were part of it with me, didn’t make too much difference to me as long as I got something outta it. Not so proud of that, but life goes on.” He shrugged, avoiding Charles’s eyes. “What ‘bout you?”

“What about me?” Charles hurried to finish the beer, shocked by Arthur’s mentality and matter-of-fact tone.

“You got any interestin’ ‘inclinations’, as you put it?”

Charles paused a moment, unsure how to answer. He’d never really thought about it before meeting Arthur, but now under this scrutiny and the Arthur’s blunt outlook on sex he felt an uncomfortable fluttering in his stomach. He finally just shrugged and downed one of the shots spread in front of them.

“Fair enough,” Arthur said and slammed back another shot of his own. He kindly switched the subject to dog training, laying out his plan on how he was going to train Copper to grab purses. Outlandish sure, but it was nice, just letting Arthur ramble on mindlessly- focus off himself. He wondered if Arthur had been shackled during his encounter with the sheriff’s daughter. Charles thoughts were drifting, light and mindless from the booze. “Gotta piss, wait here,” Arthur said.

When Arthur returned to the table he was flushed and sporting slightly purplish eye, a trickle of blood running from his nose. He looked happy enough though, despite it all.

“What happened?” Charles asked, checking behind him and relaxing slightly to see nobody had followed Arthur back inside. He grabbed a clean bandana from his pocket and forced it into Arthur’s hand, lingering to make sure Arthur didn’t drop it in his drunkenness. Arthur blinked back at him, grin threatening to break across his face. Charles moved backwards, hand falling away. “Sorry. You’re bleeding.”

Arthur put the bandana up to his nose, “yeah. Got into a fight. Don’t worry, didn’t kill nobody- just tied him up and threw ‘im in the pig pen.” Arthur followed that up with another shot, or most of one, a bit splashed onto the table under Arthur’s uncoordinated grasp.

“You didn’t.”

“Sure did- it’s justice I all. I’m pretty much Deputy now. You’d best be behave Mister Smith, or I’ll have to take you in. It’s too bad I used all the rope on the pig man…”

“That’s…For what?”

“I don’ know, plant somethin’ on ya. Frame ya for all my crimes.”

“Even the goat?”

“I din’ never,” he paused, knocked back the next shot, “fuck a goddamn goat!” Charles wasn’t sure if it was the booze acting, but the last words were shouted loud enough that a dozen pairs of eyes turned to their table. One tough looking bearded man glared especially hard. “Bet you did though, mister.” Arthur called out. The man was on his feet a second later, fists curled and ready.

“Fuck!” Charles said, and grabbed Arthur by the shoulders, “My friend didn’t mean that, we’re just leaving.” Charles herded him to the back door, monitoring the large man eyeing them up. The whole saloon was quiet, anticipation of the looming altercation blossoming on many patron’s faces. When they somehow made it out of the building with no chairs thrown at their heads- Charles took it as a victory. As they stumbled forward, a pained grumble broke out from before them. Sure enough, the pig pen was occupied by a large man, hog tied and muddy.

The mindless grumbling cut off and Charles was surprised to see the target of the man’s ire was himself. “So that’s it huh? That’ why you was bein’ so disagreeable? Not at all like last time.” Arthur froze beside him.

“Shut up- ain’t gotta deal with ya no more. Come on Charles,” Arthur tried to stumble away but his foot caught on a lose rock. Charles just barely grabbed his arm in time.

“Makes me sick, you runnin’ round with people like him. Ruinin’ yourself for the rest of us. Disgustin’” the voice continued trickling out of the muddy stall. Charles suddenly found himself shoved up against the pen gate, chapped lips clumsily slammed against his own. Arthur was kissing him? More angry sounds from the pen as Arthur smirked against him, hands cupping his face.

“I can hav‘im fuck me right up ‘gainst ‘is gate if ya wan’ a show mister. Maybe you’d learn a thing or two.” Charles felt his blood flooding south at the crude words, helpless to stop his own reaction. When a leg was shoved between his own, Charles could only chase the feeling. Arthur suddenly froze though, terrified eyes seeming to clear up. “I-” he began, but cut off, still looking distraught.

Charles pulled back in shock, removed Arthur’s hands with his own and pulled him away from the fence- ignoring the jeers of the man behind them. Arthur followed behind easily, let himself get led by the hand back to the hotel, only stopping once to collect himself and fight off a wave of nausea. Charles helped him remove his shirt and pants clinically, any spark from earlier gone in the place of concern. Arthur looked wrecked and unhappy, refusing to look up or speak at all. His hand fell on the collar from earlier, before picking it up with confusion.

“Wha’s this?” he finally mumbled out.

“I made it for you.” Arthur looked even more confused now, “no, for Copper I mean.” Arthur still wouldn’t look up at him, but stared down at the band, fingers tracing the patterns Charles had carved into it.

“It’s beautiful,” he finally said.

“It’s nothing much, just figured it was better than just tying a rope round her.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, and placed the collar on the bedside table, gently, almost reverently. “I’m sorry, don’t know what came over me before.”

Charles sat down next to him on the bed, unable to tell Arthur the full extent to how much he didn’t mind. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“Arthur, look at me.” Arthur wouldn’t but Charles continued all the same, “I didn’t mind, really.”

“You’re just sayin’ that.”

“I’m not,” Charles tried to think of something to say to coax Arthur out of himself without betraying his own confused feelings. “Come here.” He gently laid his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, giving him a chance to pull away, then briefly brushed his lips against Arthur’s. Eyes finally opened in shock and locked onto him. “See, now we’re even.”

“Not quite,” he said, dazed.

“What?”

Arthur looked like he was about to cry. “You gotta say somethin’ horrifyin’ly crude and disgustin’ and completely embarrass yourself in front of the one person you feel the most ‘omfortble ‘round. Gotta completely ruin everythin’. Then we’ll be even.” Charles was surprised his friend could even utter so many words, drunk as he was.

“Okay…” he didn’t know what to say, just scanned the room for some inspiration of how to comfort Arthur. “Um, okay. How about I drag you out onto the balcony and fuck you,” too much, he scanned the room again, “with err, that broken chair leg in front of the whole town.” Arthur looked at him in shock, then just wilted into the mattress, rolled over onto his stomach and for a second Charles thought he’d gone too far and completely broken his friend. But then he realized Arthur was laughing, face down in the pillow. He didn’t look up after that, just scooched over towards the wall to make space for Charles, still giggling into the pillow. Charles felt numb as he took the empty place. ‘Crazy business’ indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drinking can be dangerous, be safe out there!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any mistakes, it's been chaotic around here on this (US) election night.

Charles had feared Arthur would be closed off or evasive after their messy night of drinking, but it was the opposite. He was even more prone to raunchy jokes and physical affection than before, but in a measured cautious way that he’d never exhibited before. As if he feared any one movement would tip the balance and turn Charles away from him completely.

When they’d set off for the town center with Copper though, Arthur had been surprisingly quiet and distant, his presence behind Charles only noticeable from the sound of familiar boots as they snaked through back alleys. He knew Arthur was up to something from the inhale of breath from behind him, but he still startled when he felt a sudden tension at his shoulder. He turned around to confront his attacker only to find Copper on her back legs, his bag tight in her jaws. She tugged as if her weak grasp could somehow dislodge the reinforced leather from around his arm. Charles sighed and raised the bag, bringing the dog up with it a couple inches into the air before giving up and setting her down. Arthur’s silence was broken at least, the man bursting out in laughter as Charles turned to glare at him.

“You were being serious about training her then? She’s on there pretty good.” Charles asked Arthur, who just looked down at Copper proudly. At the wide-eyed gaze Copper threw at him from around the leather Charles retrieved a little piece of jerky, settling down on a nearby bench.

“Course- she needs to earn her keep like the rest of us. Don’t worry though, I was just bored- I’d never endanger our girl like that. I’ll just have her steal from gang members, I have a couple of targets already planned out.” When Copper finally released her catch in favor of the dried beef Arthur swooped in for his own attack, plucking her right off the ground and sittings down next to Charles on the dusty bench. The alleyway was barren, the gun shop they were leaned up against decrepit, whole chunks of the wall crumbling around them. “You as bored of this town as I am? Seems like all the jobs are just bounties and wanderin’ into the sheriff’s station don’t seem too wise for me. And it seems kind of wrong, roundin’ up a bunch of our own.” Charles didn’t know how he felt about that, lumping every criminal together like that.

“I can go in and grab some posters if it’s all there is. I won’t lose any sleep locking up a kidnapper or rapist.” Arthur let out a thoughtful grumble and canted his head to look out over to the collection of horses tethered at the end of the alley. His distracted eyes appraising as if the man planned to make a grab for one. He finally looked back at Charles, boots digging into the sandy ground beneath them mindlessly.

“I see what you mean, but what if they were just framed? Dutch’s been accused of all sorts of things he’d never do. Some of those same charges actually… but I know him well enough to not believe any of it. Not tryin’ to say he’s a saint, but I also don’t buy what those lawmen say regardin’ guilt.” He paused and looked back to Charles, but it was Copper who broke the tension- making a little leap off Arthur to explore Charles’s lap. “Sorry, not tryin’ to moralize or nothin’, I’ve done a couple of those contracts a while back when I was desperate- just never felt too good 'bout it.”

“You can have your own code, seems like too many people don’t. Never done any bounties myself, but I’m not especially opposed if the men are bad enough,” Charles said.

“What’s bad enough? Do I count?” Arthur asked, leaning into Charles’s shoulder languidly and looked up at him in a mockery of an innocent expression. But for all his joking, something in his eyes gave him away.

“I’m hardly a good judge of character given my own crimes, but I don’t think so, not to me at least,” Charles said, and gave a little mirthless laugh of his own. “I’ve seen you do all manner of things but never cruelty for cruelty’s sake. Seen plenty of worse folks at least.” Arthur didn’t move away from him, seemingly unconcerned by their surroundings, tucked behind the shop as they were. He finally spoke again, somber again.

“I just worry- more and more men out for bounties now. We’d make some fellow real rich if they knew the right sheriff to deal with. It almost seems like huntin’ folks for sport.” Charles had to nod at that, he’d had seen it before- men beating up chained prisoners in jest, parading them down the streets to the police stations. Fighting like dogs over some tied up conquest- bounty hunters killed by other bounty hunters in the name of their reward. If he ever did pick up any bounties, he’d be sure to travel on back roads in dark hours.

“We’ll be okay, just have to avoid those towns,” Charles said.

Arthur snorted, “That’s a lot of towns you know? Even this one.” Charles groaned and debated whether he should ask. In the end he didn’t, just settled back against the wall and accepted the offer of a cigarette.

-

The next day, a letter from Dutch arrived at the train station to an anxiously awaiting Arthur. The man returned to their hotel room to report that Dutch would be coming down to meet them personally in the next few days- eager to meet a new potential recruit but also currently busy with his own job up north. Charles forced a smile that Arthur easily saw through.

“Don’t worry, he’s not as scary as the posters make out. Swear.”

“Alright.”

“You’ll see what I mean. Even if I don’t always agree with him, he’s tryin’ his best. He brought me and John- another one of us, a very annoyin’ one of us- into the fold. Him and Hosea.”

“You mentioned them a bit before.” Charles found himself messing with the stitching of a ragged pillow, a nervous habit he’d left behind years ago. The whole reason he’d taken up woodworking in the first place- he’d felt more in control when funneling his energy into something productive. His stash of arrows had grown a lot since they’d landed in Tacksville.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you’d manage to stick around long enough to meet them. But since you wanna… here, I’ll show you, just don’t laugh- they’re pretty ugly things.” Arthur reached into his bag and drew out the little journal, opening it to him for the first time. He looked a bit embarrassed but continued flipping to the right page. Charles had seen the little sketches covering his travel map, but the people seemed even more lovingly crafted- sprawling across full pages. A child glared out of the page at him, eyes glaring, teeth bared.

“This little demon is John.”

Arthur let him inspect the picture a moment. “This is really something Arthur, they look so lifelike. You made him look quite… ferocious.”

“Oh, he is. Maybe he learned a little bit of that from me but not all- he was wild from the first day we picked him up. He tried stealin’ from Dutch and somehow, he ended up trailin’ along when he failed,” Arthur gave him a pointed look, “just like someone else I know. He’s more a younger brother to me though, a grubby little brother.”

“What do you think he’ll make of a new person? I’ve never talked to many children before, even when I was young…”

Arthur didn’t answer right away. “I sure you’d be fine but, but he’s not at camp right now. Hosea took him away to the mountains with him,” he finally said.

“Why?”

“Think Hosea wanted to show the kid a bit of peace and quiet after things got rough for him- like I said, he’s wild and I don’t think me and Dutch are the best influence on him.” Arthur looked a little uncomfortable as he stared down at the drawing, “think maybe Hosea didn’t want Dutch to get his claws into him like he did me… But don’t mind all that, the two of them fight sometimes but they’re best friends and this thing is just temporary. I’m sure you’ll meet them both someday soon.” He sounded uncertain as he flipped to another page revealing an older gentleman with a big grin.

“This is Hosea, think you’ll like him. Crook like the rest of us but he’s always treated me right and did his best to lead me in the right direction. If anything went wrong, were my own choice. But they’re all like family to me- more than my blood family ever was at least.” Charles felt suddenly guilty recalling his statements days before about running off together, abandoning the people Arthur loved most.

“Look forward to meeting them then. Haven’t thought of living with others in a good many years, but maybe I’ll be alright.” He surprised himself at the honesty of that statement- he’d been opposed to it for weeks but now, with Arthur gazing down at his drawings Charles felt the first wave of genuine curiosity. “Thanks for showing me this, your drawings really are good. You documenting all your companions then?”

“Yeah, got a bunch more if you want to see. There’s Susan, Bill, Uncle, Strauss, Bessie.” He let Charles flip through the pages with the promise he wouldn’t try and read anything.

“So I guess you’ll want to record me, for documentation’s sake at some point?”

“You think I haven’t already?”

Charles started, “what? When?” Arthur hurried to grab the journal as Charles began to flip through the remaining pages in earnest.

“You don’t gotta see that! Seemed a shame not too though…” Charles felt his face heat up under Arthur’s gaze. “Want to going hunting?” Charles blinked at the change of subject

“Sure,” he agreed easily, not giving a second glimpse to the rations they’d pulled aside for dinner. Hunting with Arthur was better.

-

They installed themselves just outside of town in search of rabbits, though at the moment they were just sprawled out in the grass, enjoying the bit of actual sunlight gracing the day. A herd of wild horses was prancing about in the distance and Charles was surprised Arthur hadn’t already planned to corral them all. Instead, Charles was currently trying to convince him that another night of drinking was not in their best interest. But with Arthur looking at him so intently, Charles was having a hard time focusing.

“Maybe you’re right, last time you did have to deal with a lot…” Arthur trailed off.

“I did, you threatened to turn me into the local jail

“What? No I didn’t- I’d never do that.”

“Remember something about you being a ‘Deputy Morgan.’ Sounded to be an awfully corrupt deputy too, threatening to frame me.”

“Okay no, I didn’t call myself ‘Deputy Morgan’, just that I may as well be deputized.”

“So you do remember?”

“No, I don’t remember nothin’,” he huffed, “I’m sure it ended in a completely responsible and respectable manner.”

“Surely.” They sat in comfortable silence for a time, enjoying the last of the day- little stack of rabbits already stowed on Arthur’s horse.

“You know,” Arthur rolled over to meet his eyes, bits of grass stuck in his hair, “it’s nice having a friend to travel with. You’re clearly a much better man than I am but you’ve stuck with me this whole time.” Charles was caught between embarrassment and delight, unsure how to even follow such a heartfelt confession. “I really like you, if you don’t mind too much…” Arthur trailed off and continued playing with the grass beneath him.

“I…” Charles really didn’t know what to make of that.

“You don’t gotta say nothin’, just speakin’ nonsense again.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied and Arthur looked up at him again, question in his eyes. But Charles didn’t know what answer, didn’t want to misconstrue Arthur’s words. But something felt lacking so he continued, “Don’t think I could mind much from you.” The happy surprise on Arthur’s face was infectious and Charles felt himself smile back as Arthur crawled closer.

“You’ll regret sayin’ that for sure.” Charles was given hardly a second’s notice before he felt a hand darting into his pocket. Arthur had snatched his wallet right off him. “You mind that?” Arthur was clutching the wallet to his chest, stupid grin plastered on his face.

“Not really, I know you’ll give it back.” But Arthur was close enough Charles could snatch it back himself with little effort, and he did before Arthur could pull out the neatly folded bills.

“What ‘bout this?” Arthur snaked his hand around one of Charles fingers and began to bend it backwards. Charles gaped at him and resisted the urge to defend himself.

“You wouldn’t actually do it. Probably,” he finally said. But Arthur did have a wild look, his eyes burning a bit too brightly at the threat. He didn’t let go right away and Charles reveled in the feeling of Arthur touching him. “Did I ever tell you, you’re really weird?”

“Yeah.” Arthur eased his hold on him but didn’t let go of his hand entirely. Charles held his breath as Arthur scooted closer to him and brought his other hand to his chin.

“And this?” Arthur whispered, sounding almost afraid as he gently leaned over. Charles heart was beating erratically, mind screaming at him that Arthur was going to kiss him again, sober this time. And he did, on corner of his mouth, hand feather light on his face. It was nothing like the filthy kiss from before. It was chaste, more of a question than a real kiss. He wanted to grab Arthur and pull him down, kiss him proper but he felt unbalanced and confused- nonsensically afraid Arthur was testing him, ready to laugh at his inexperience.

“I don’t know,” he finally replied, his own hand coming up to touch Arthur’s cheek- unsure exactly what type of relationship Arthur was suggesting even as he struggled to keep his hands off the other man. Charles was afraid Arthur would be angry or terribly embarrassed by the rejection, but he just smiled at him again, if a little sadly before leaning back.

“Okay.”

-

Charles lasted two more days. Arthur had pulled back after their conversation, still being perfectly friendly, but ditching the suggestive comments and lingering touches entirely. But even with his perfectly innocent front, Arthur was driving him mad, obscene images plaguing his thoughts.

But then he’d think of the man in the bar, so familiar with Arthur when they’d first met- of Arthur unhappy and playing along for money. He’d been good at it, Charles not even noticing his attentions weren’t genuine. And what had happened between them at the saloon was spurred by booze and anger, something Arthur regretted- if his reaction at the hotel later was any indication. He’d told Charles he never cared for the folks he slept with during their night of drinking anyway. Even more baffling were the little tests Arthur had laid out for him while hunting.

As he struggled to mask his own anxiety, he thought back to the women he’d fancied to distract himself, the ruffled skirts and long brown hair. There hadn’t been many, and only one who’d returned any sort of fancy. She was dead now, killed years before in a senseless act of hate-filled violence. Charles hadn’t known her long, but it had hit him hard- her screams still awakening him in the night. At the young age of sixteen he’d been certain they’d marry and somehow escape their dreary upbringing together. Sometimes he’d hear Arthur’s screams in his dreams now, killed after some daring stand or act of idiocy. Other times the dreams would leave him shamed in morning.

Even as Arthur pulled back with his affection, Charles found himself subconsciously seeking it out- using any excuse to be near the other man, whether it was following him along on mindless errands that definitely didn’t require two, or sitting a bit too close as they ate breakfast around the little hotel table. If Arthur minded, he didn’t say anything, just took everything in stride. Played dumb really, but Charles now realized that was usually just an act put on by the man.

But two days later, when Arthur laughed at some meaningless joke and winked up at him from across the run-down hotel room for the first time in days, Charles found himself approaching the man, his feet seemingly moving on their own.

“Arthur-” he started, then broke off, his hand had somehow found Arthur’s wrist. “I meant what I said that night. I didn’t mind any of it.” He trailed off, mortified and unsure how to fix any potential damage, what to say to excuse himself if he’d misunderstood something along the way. They just stared at each other a few seconds.

“You sure?” Arthur rose from the bed and made his way over slowly- question hanging in the air between them.

“Yeah,” And he was, if ignorant of the specifics, and what Arthur expected in return. Charles had a hard time relaxing at the hand that came to rest on his hip. He willed himself to make a move but it was as if he was frozen.

“I could…” Arthur trailed off as he looked up at Charles before sinking to his knees before him. Charles throat went dry, unable to make a sound as Arthur looked up at him, hands on his belt, waiting for something. He nodded; all rational thought gone, and Arthur continued, yanking the belt off impatiently.

No women had ever done this to him, and he found himself unsteady as Arthur took out of his jeans while mouthing down his thigh as he stiffened in his hand. With a final smirk and nod up at him, Arthur took him down, hands splayed out on either thigh.

He didn’t make a show of it, just hurried to swallow around him, all the awkward flirting from days past replaced with a frenzied confidence. They were filthy, the little noises Arthur was making around him and while Charles tried to stay as still as possible, Arthur didn’t seem to mind the unconscious jerks. Seemed to encourage them really, hands moving to the back of his thighs to guide Charles further down. It finally sunk in that it was Arthur, his best friend taking him apart like this when Arthur’s familiar calloused hands snaked up under his shirt and he was suddenly overcome by the need to pull Arthur impossibly closer to him, to yank him up off his knees. He was too far away.

“Arthur, wait…” he gasped out, thoughts swirling. Arthur pulled off and focused his gaze on Charles’s face.

“You want me to stop?” he asked, voice raspy and joking- but Charles felt the weight of the question.

“No, just…” he didn’t want to admit to Arthur how close he already was, though surely Arthur could tell. Or admit how much he just wanted to hold him right now. Upon hearing his answer Arthur returned to his position between his legs, pushing him backwards firmly till his legs hit the bed.

Charles sat down and watched Arthur, heart beating in anticipation as he begun again, gentler and almost teasing this time. But even that was too much to calm him down, and he found himself pushing into the feeling, chasing the hurried pace from earlier. Arthur groaned in surprise but encouraged him, grabbing Charles’s hands and all but forcing them into his hair, whining until Charles submitted to thrusting into him with abandon.

“Arthur, I think…” Charles cut himself off abruptly, pleasure mounting as he struggled to keep his own staggering feeling from pouring out.

Arthur clearly took his cut-off words as a warning and responded by swallowing more fully around him, virtually pushing his face into his lap. Charles came hard but Arthur didn’t even flinch, just continued his ministrations through it, hands tightening where they’d settled on his legs. When he finally pulled off looked up at him again, blushing furiously and gasping for air, he looked properly debauched, his own pants clearly straining.

Charles just started down at him in awe, Arthur’s willingness to do such a thing sinking in. It wasn’t something most would do for free, but it felt wrong to ask now, with Arthur on the floor in front of him. Maybe he could offer a returned favor. He’d never used his mouth on somebody though, not even a woman. He settled for grabbing Arthur’s arm and pulling him up to stand alongside him as he’d wanted to do earlier. He was shocked when he felt a mouth immediately descend against his, a desperate noise stuttered against his lips. Arthur was kissing him like his life depended on it, body plastered to him and he could only eagerly return the embrace, grabbing Arthur by the hips and holding him in place.

“Want some help?” he heard himself ask and felt Arthur nod against him frantically, finally letting himself slot his legs around one of his own. With his hands still holding tight to Arthur’s thighs he guided the man back and forth against his thigh.

“Yeah Charles, please...”

Charles couldn’t be very talented, never having done this before but Arthur didn’t seem to mind, pliable as Charles finally pushed him into the old bed and followed him down. The way Arthur snaked his legs around his own waist gave him all sorts of ideas, but he settled for hurrying to get the older man out of his jeans completely- the things too tight to work around. He was thrilled to see him, already a mess and leaking as he immediately began to buck up into Charles’s hand.

If he was faking it, putting on some sort of show, he surely was a great actor. Charles couldn’t help but stare down from his vantage point- Arthur was beautiful like this, eye lashes wet as he lazily blinked up. He was gentle with Arthur then, perhaps more than he should be in such an encounter, but he got no complaints at the treatment. If anything, Arthur seemed to moan even louder at the soft kisses to his neck and eagerly returned the kiss Charles planted on his lips as he came. They were both a mess, and breathing hard, but Arthur yanked him down beside him through it all. He really was strong, and it sent another jolt through Charles. They didn’t say much but Arthur wasted no time nestling into his arms, immobilizing him fully against the wall with his bulk.

The doubt didn’t hit in full until Arthur fell asleep. He was confused and desperate for something more, countless confessions locked behind his lips. He was sleepless for an hour, then another. He didn’t even know the time anymore, dreading how Arthur would react in the morning. Surely, he’d finally lay down some boundaries in the face of Charles’s embarrassing and overtly romantic actions, so at odds with what Arthur himself had offered up from between his legs. But then again, he _had_ kissed Charles back with what appeared to be enthusiasm. Exhaustion finally won over his anxiety and he felt himself sinking into sleep. But then, after what felt like seconds, he was awake again to watch as the rising sun sent rays of light blinking across the floorboards.

Arthur woke when the light finally reached his face. Scrunched his nose at the intrusion and smiled nervously at Charles.

“Morn-” Arthur began to say.

“How much do I owe you?” Charles cut him off, heart beating fast, the whole restless night weighing on the question. It wasn’t what he’d planned on saying, but perhaps if he could make the whole thing more transactional, he’d be able to hide the intensity of his feelings. Besides, Arthur deserved payment for what he did- he was always overly accommodating all along, offering food, medical attention, and now sexual favors.

“What?” Arthur sat up quickly.

Charles bit his tongue, unsure how to continue in face of the hurt on Arthur’s face. “I just meant that I wasn’t sure if you’d want payment…” He trailed off, it sounded awful even to his own ears.

Arthur glared daggers into him, he hadn’t looked so angry since their first unfortunate meeting. “That so Charles?” He said his name like it was something dirty, “reckon’ I owe you some cash too if that’s how you wanna play it.” He got up and staggered off from the foot of the bed to throw his clothes on and grabbed his satchel. Charles saw Arthur’s eyes flicking to the door and panicked.

“Wait! I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Well _clearly_ it didn’t mean nothin’ to you. Move.”

Charles found himself between Arthur and the door, blocking the only escape route. When Arthur shoved him away, he unconsciously grabbed the offending arm and held him in place. Arthur yanked his arm, eyes widening at the vice like grip. “Let me-” Arthur began and Charles let him go immediately, horrified. Arthur didn’t even look back as he fled the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Social anxiety sucks. Charles is his own worst critic (despite Arthur clearly clearly being besotted) and they both suffer for it here- sorry!


	7. Chapter 7

He should’ve waited for Arthur’s lead. He’d clearly shamed his friend, maybe to the point of losing him. Charles sat in their room for a while, unsure what to do- his mind was blank and exhausted from the lack of sleep. He finally rousted himself to search the mercantile store, train station, saloon, gunsmith, unsure what he’d say but desperate to catch Arthur before he fled town. Even the prison looked empty from his window viewpoint, other than a single old mustached man in the rear most cell. The morning air was brisk, the roads all but empty- no sign of Arthur. Luckily both their horses and Copper were still in the stables at least, Copper going wild with excitement as Charles rushed in.

Perhaps Arthur had left town on foot then. No luck over the next couple hours- in which time Charles was finally able to draft numerous apologies in his head. At least Copper kept him company on his third circuit of the town, little dog bouncing at his heels, pushing her head into his calf as Charles finally settled down to breathe- panic threatening to spill over as countless scenarios slithered through his thoughts. But even through his fear, he somehow managed to slip into some illusion of sleep before jerking awake to a little bark at a passing traveler.

Charles was just struggling back to alertness as he followed Copper’s gaze upward to the all too familiar man. Dutch van der Linde, riding into town on a majestic white horse, not ten feet away. It sure looked like him at least, stern face and black hair straight from the wanted posters. He found himself staring as the man passed right by him, on his way to the inn. Charles forced himself to stand and follow in the hoof tracks, pushing himself forward even as his words dried in his throat. Van der Linde finally noticed him as he came to stop in front of the inn.

“Hello,” he finally settled on, as mildly and nonthreateningly as he could manage. Van der Linde continued staring back, his expression guarded.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Um, I think perhaps you’re here for my friend.” He seemed to warm immediately, jumping off the horse, walking over to him, and offering his hand up. Charles took it and returned the strong handshake.

“You must be the one Arthur mentioned then? Heard you were quite talented. We haven’t brought anyone new in for a while but I’m willing to give it a chance if our ideals align properly.” The transformation was immediate, and Charles was reminded of a salesman, the smile a bit too wide for a stranger. He struggled to offer up his own smile.

“Yeah, Arthur and I have been working some jobs recently…”

“For a long time.” Van der Linde’s smile didn’t dwindle, but there was an edge to it now.

Charles found himself flying to Arthur’s defense, hoping nothing he said conflicted with the letter Arthur had sent days earlier. “Well we were shot a few weeks back, it was a slow recovery.” Technically not a lie, but not the full truth either- they both had been up and about the day after the shooting, if a bit sore for a week.

“Really now?” Dutch’s eyebrows rose, almost comically, “Arthur certainly didn’t mention that.”

“Didn’t want you to worry, seems like he’s always looking out for people,” Charles said, recalling Arthur hounding him to eat and worrying over his bandages.

Dutch just scoffed though, “Arthur? We talking about the same person?” Now Charles was confused, was Arthur not usually like that? “Where is he, by the way?”

Charles’s blood ran cold, he had no idea. “Not sure right now, he headed out this morning- errands perhaps.”

“Okay then, you’ve got a room?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, I’ve got some stuff to drop off if you don’t mind.”

“Course not. Want me to bring it up for you?”

“What? No, of course not- I can manage just fine. You’ll find that our little family operates a bit differently than most.” Charles wished Dutch had just handed him the bag as they entered the room, Dutch scanning the small space with one bed. But he didn’t say anything at least, just threw his own bag onto the bed.

“May as well talk as we wait for Arthur.”

“Okay.” Charles pulled the two ratty chairs out from the corner table and took one for himself. He found himself awkward, talking to this man and his big smile. He felt small somehow.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“And what’s your background?” Charles was even more nervous now, surely van der Linde could tell by looking at him. Was this some ploy to shame him?

“Mother was Indian, father black.”

“No, I meant your life experiences. Who are you and what will you bring to my gang should you join?” His whole life story? Charles was confused, that would surely take too long.

“Umm…” he stalled.

“Let me make this easier. You ever steal anything?” Charles nodded, van der Linde already knew that. “Kill anyone?” again, a nod. “Rape anyone?” he shook his head. “Good. If I told you to steal from someone, kill them, rape them, would you?”

“It depends I guess,” Charles stammered out, van der Linde raised his eyebrows. “I mean, not the last one. Just, I’d consider the requests, but I’d need the context.”

“Hmmm.” Dutch was considering him but Charles had no idea if he’d passed or failed whatever game was being played with him. “Okay, you’re your own man then?” Charles just shrugged a little, probably the wrong answer. But Dutch just nodded along, poker face a mask. After a few more agonizing minutes of similar questioning, Dutch seemed to come to a decision and jumped into a spiel with a little nod.

“I think you’ll fit in just fine Mr. Smith. You’ll find that our gang is much more inclusive than is typical, your background won’t be an issue with none of us. We live by great principles- lofty goals for the road sure, but our aspirations go higher than just money.” Charles was reminded of a politician now, the words spoken with an intensity that clashed with their small run down setting and muddy boots.

“This country was founded on the ideals of equality, but somewhere along the way those in power lost their way- the reality seems often misaligned with the expectation.” He’d noticed. He nodded along, the message seemed decent and unique, if a bit heavy handed. But he mostly just wanted to find Arthur. He’d hoped he would come wandering in after spotting Dutch’s horse outside the inn, but so far, nothing.

Dutch crossed the room at some point, collecting a bottle of gin and pouring them both a couple fingers. Even the smell of the stuff made Charles more nauseous than he could remember being, but he drained the cup all the same, concentrating on keeping it down as Dutch gave a little laugh.

“Welcome then. I’ll want to run a couple jobs together to better understand your talents- Arthur seems to think you’ll do just fine.”

“I’m glad I met him; he’s been a great friend to me.” Charles wasn’t sure why he said it, why this man needed to know. Dutch froze.

“That so?”

“Sure, seems to be a good man.”

“That boy’s a good many things, but he’s more an enforcer than a philosopher.” Whatever that meant. “Someone like him don’t need to think too much about good and evil- it’s beautiful in a way. Dangerous though, I trust you won’t put any odd ideas in his head? He’s like my son and I’d do anything to protect him.” Charles didn’t follow at all, just stared at him in confusion a few moments, room suddenly awkward. “Sure you won’t’, just setting down some expectations.”

“Course. I’m just trying to get by, and he was always solid is all I mean.” Dutch seemed to thaw at this, taking another quick drink before tucking the bottle away again.

“Good, very good.”

-

Charles was exhausted by the time they finished up. “Maybe we should go looking for him,” Charles said for the second time, more and more worried as the hours ticked by. But he had no idea where to continue the search, already having scoped out the entire town. Van der Linde agreed easily enough though, no doubt bored by Charles’s weak attempts at conversation. They split up and covered the town again, this time Charles sweeping along the perimeter to no avail. He rejoined van der Linde with a shake of his head.

“And you’re sure he didn’t say where he was going?” van der Linde asked.

“…No.”

“I’m going to ask in there, used to be one of our spots,” van der Linde announced, pointing to a dilapidated little watering hole Charles had already checked earlier. Seemed like the gang had lots of spots, Dutch had veered off into all sorts of holes in the wall Charles had missed in his earlier combing. But he’d stopped here. The bartender had rudely told him off and scoffed at his inquiry, whipping his arms out to show Charles the empty bar stools around them. He told van der Linde as much, but he filed in anyway, muttering under his breath.

He didn’t emerge though for a few minutes though, so Charles crept closer. Still nobody in the main room, even van der Linde. The barkeeper eyed him with a scowl.

“Thought I told you, nobody here! Scram then,” he barked out.

“Where’d that mustached man go then?” Charles asked, ignoring the angry tirade.

“What you talking about? For the last goddamned time, there ain’t nobody here!”

“What’s wrong with you?” exclaimed a familiar voice, loudly from the next room over. Charles quickly darted down the hall, past the outraged man, desperate to see what he’d found. Arthur was slumped over on the floor in among some buckets and mops, limbs dropping around him nonsensically. Van der Linde was shaking him back and forth, none too gently.

“Arthur wake up!” he shook him, and a thin sigh broke out from Arthur’s slack form. He didn’t seem to wake. Charles stooped down beside them, horrified. Was he drunk again?

“What happened?”

“I don’t know Mr. Smith. Help me get him up.” Charles settled for just picking him up and carrying him out while van der Linde gathered the satchel from the dusty floor.

“The fuck is all this?” he said angrily from behind him, pulling bottles out of the bag. “You!” Van der Linde rounded on Charles, little glass vials in his hands, the strength of anger in his eyes sobering. The morphine.

“Stop yellin’ Dutch, it’s ‘nnoying,” slurred Arthur, still limp in his arms. “’M fine. Just din’ know how much-” Charles released the breath he’d been holding, Arthur wasn’t dead.

Charles lead them back into the main room, only to be stopped by the bartender, shotgun in hand. “Sorry Dutch, this fellow slipped by- your fault I gotta say though, yelling like that.”

If van der Linde looked angry before, he looked downright murderous now as he thundered past Charles to confront the man.

“Put that thing down. This is your fucking fault Jason- didn’t know you extended your services to degeneracy like this!”

“Not my business what people wanna do, I provide the space but it's not my job to babysit what you folk do back there. Definitely not the worst thing your folk’s have done neither. Now take him and get out. Won’t be working with any of you again neither!”

“Just put the gun down Jason, we’ll leave. And sure as hell won’t be back.” Jason lowered the shotgun finally, appeased.

Arthur woke again a couple times to slur out that he was fine. To put him down.

Dutch looked crushed as he glanced over at Arthur. “You aren’t fine son. Not at all.” Charles lugged him back to the inn and up the stairs. The innkeeper gave them all a look, but didn’t jump in. Once they got Arthur onto the bed van der Linde started the barrage of questions, to Arthur, Charles, the empty air.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded, shaking the bottles. “You give this to him?”

“What? No of course not.”

“Oh really, well he’s never had a problem before, and now he’s passing out in broom closets?” he asked angrily. “Son,” a forceful nudge that momentarily broke Arthur from his stupor. “Why’d you use this? Are you hurt?”

“Charles ask me to-” he began but trailed off in confusion. Charles blood ran cold as van der Linde’s eyes darted back to his, darker this time, his suspicions now verified.

“Get out.” Those two words were uttered with such loathing Charles had to take a step back.

“But-” he began but was cut off.

“I don’t know where the fuck you came from, but nobody takes advantage of my son like this. Get out of here now, before I kill you.”

“Sounds like you let- no encourage- a lot of people take advantage of him,” Charles felt himself saying, anger emerging as he was forced back away from his friend. The gun was knocked at that and Charles scrambled to exit the room, leaving all his stuff behind.

-

Charles found a little patch of grass on the ground behind the inn and settled in for the night. Arthur might never want to see him again, but he wasn’t about to leave without making sure he was alright. For all the mess he made, Arthur was the best friend he’d ever had, and he owed him that. He found himself furious at Dutch. It made no sense; the man had done everything to protect Arthur from the monster he presumed Charles to be. But he couldn’t forgive being driven away like that, what more harm could he do to Arthur now? He must have dozed again at some point, the lack of sleep and stress of the day catching up to him. He woke up to a hard voice.

“I gave you a chance to leave, a perfect chance to disappear with no harm to your person. But no, you’re still skulking about.” Van der Linde, looming over him.

“Is Arthur okay?”

Dutch seemed to ponder the question a moment, “he’s alive, he’ll be fine.” he trailed off. “He told me he loves you.” Charles sucked in a breath; Arthur was safe. “He ran off with you for a month, abandoning his family to starvation and worry, picked up a drug habit and now apparently has absolute loyalty and adoration for a stranger who supplies the drugs. Odd.”

Charles, still unarmed and blinking sleep out of his eyes could only gasp as Dutch suddenly brought his heel down hard on his ankle. Charles shouted out in pain and kicked out with his uninjured leg to catch Dutch in the midsection- operating more on instinct than deliberate thought. The man spluttered, giving Charles a chance to stumble to his knees. But then metal was pressed at his head and all hopes of escape crashed down. Wanted for murder, kidnapping, grand theft, fraud- this man was an expert. The rope seemed to appear from nowhere, “I take no joy in this boy, if you have to know.” Charles thrashed, trying to dislodge the man from atop him, but despite his slim frame, van der Linde was surprisingly strong, and his grip on the back of Charles’s neck all but immobilizing. A bandana was forced past his teeth.

Then, he found himself being dragged, obviously a bit heavy for man and could only watch as the rope was tied around the horse. At first he didn’t feel much, his thick clothing protecting him from the hard dirt, but as they continued the easy stroll down the road he began to feel a burning where the cloth was shaved away. He could see the cliffside approaching, could only watch the back of van der Linde’s boots as he walked unsteadily alongside the horse.

“Sorry,” Dutch offered as he cut the rope. “Like I said- no joy. But I’d do anything in the world for that boy, I raised him from nothing. An absolute animal. I won’t let you ruin him again now.” Charles struggled as he was pushed closer and closer to the edge, boot almost frantic in is assault, desperate anger booming through van der Linde’s voice. Charles hardly felt the kick that finally sent him over the edge, blood coursing so heavily thought his veins. Then it was a blur.

He was expecting a hard impact, then nothing, but instead felt himself plunging into icy water. The cold forced the air out of his lungs as well as hard rock though, leaving no room to breathe. He panicked, tried to move his arms, to fight against his bonds but they were tight, he didn’t know which way was up or down. He thought of screaming women, the military gobbling up his homeland, Arthur.

-

“He’s gone then?”

“Sorry son, I tried to stop him, but he was intent on leaving.”

“But…” he trailed off. “He wanted to join us.” But did he? He’d been hesitant and doubtful of the gang the whole time, uneasy with the casual violence Arthur embraced.

“I don’t think so. Think he got what he wanted- you told me yourself when you were delirious.” Arthur didn’t move, he was sweaty and exhausted, bucket of vomit sitting by his feet. He had not come down easily, had taken too much in his ignorance. He’d heard people say it just took the edge off, made them feel better- but he only felt numb now.

“I missed you,” Dutch said and he felt a hand on his shoulder, concerned eyes catching his. “I was worried.”

“Let’s just go,” he said quietly, “I hate his place.”

“Okay son.”

Arthur followed behind Dutch obediently. “Just need to get my horse real fast.” Dutch froze. Arthur entered the stable to find both his and Charles horses standing, side by side, Copper pranced up and down, ecstatic to finally see his human. “But… he left his horse.” He flinched at the hand dropping to his shoulder.

“Must have stolen a better one, this one is clearly old and weak. A work horse, not one for heavy riding.”

“But he said he liked that horse, I was the one tryin’ to get a better one.” Copper was insistent so he crouched down to calm her, “hey girl.” He attached the leash to the new collar and followed Dutch out of the stable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From bad to worse :(
> 
> Thanks for everyone reading, it means a lot!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long, character study of a chapter but I really wanted to get deep into Arthur's mind for once. And to emphasize the power struggle of a relationship he has with Dutch. Things are broken, to say the least- Dutch is a manipulative dick but maybe Arthur is getting sick of it? 
> 
> Thanks for hanging with me as things get rough! I'm trying to write a bit faster now, to prevent too much cliffhanger fatigue.

It’d been three days since they returned to camp, Arthur shameful, sickly and near hanging off of Dutch, the other two horses following on their tethers. Susan had immediately forced him towards the tub, mumbling under her breath in annoyance. But even that couldn’t overshadow the relief and concern warring on her face- he’d been gone for a long time only to return a mess. Dutch gave him space those first days, not demanding anything or scolding him. None of the typical anger reserved for when Arthur returned home deep in drink. It was if the man wanted to move past that confusing blur of a day.

But Arthur refused to let him, the whole sequence confusing in hindsight- Charles’s disappearance perhaps the oddest part of the story. Dutch wouldn’t know any better, not knowing Charles, but Arthur was completely blindsided. Sure, Charles may not feel the same for him, or may be horribly confused by his own feelings, but despite their blundering attempts to come together, Arthur knew the man cared for him. Knew that he was Charles’s best friend, even if he didn’t understand why. Maybe the man needed space, needed to figure himself out- but Arthur had to believe he’d seek him out again, that he’d choose Arthur in some capacity.

The last morning with Charles still hurt, still made him cringe, but now, Arthur just wanted to find Charles, maybe give him a little kick, then move on. Arthur still had the bulk of their money in his own saddlebag. And Charles’s horse and Copper in their paddock. As he finally opened his chest to stow his belongings, he made plans to find the man. If the coward was running away in embarrassment or horror at Arthur’s own foolish reaction, he would drag him back and say his piece.

"Can we go over what happened again Dutch. You know I'm sorry about all that shit but I'm a little confused. You said you talked to Charles, then he just left? What'd you say to him? What direction did he head in?"

"Not much, filled him in about what to expect around camp. Talked a bit about his past. Took off pretty fast, after I found you at Jason’s bar. Seemed pretty distraught about things."

"What things? Me getting fucked up on the damn morphine despite his best attempt to keep me in line?" Dutch’s eyebrows rose comically, the man looking genuinely caught off guard.

“He didn’t-?” Dutch asked, then cut himself off.

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t give you the morphine? That was all you?” Dutch looked angry now, starting to pace back and forth along the length of the tent. “Should of known. Shit, as if the booze wasn’t enough. Is this going to a problem with you then?”

Arthur recoiled at the look of disgust, finally surfacing on Dutch’s face after days of understanding. Arthur felt like vomiting all over again.

“No.” They glared at each other. “You ain’t tellin’ me somethin’ Dutch. Can we focus on that instead of how awful I am? I ain’t interested in any of that no more, I was just confused, and it was there… thought it might help. It didn’t. Now I want to know where Charles went.”

"I told you before, I don’t know. You never doubted me like this before, son."

"No I haven't, but this matters to me and you won't even treat it seriously. I just wanna know what happened, we had a little disagreement, maybe I kinda tricked myself into believing some things... but we'd been together for weeks. Was it so bad that he didn't even want to say goodbye? Don't sound like him."

"Well maybe you didn't know him so well."

"The hell you know anyway, Dutch?” Arthur was getting angry himself, Dutch’s nervous energy spreading and taking hold on him. He couldn’t help from raising his voice.

"Excuse me? Is this tantrum really necessary?"

"I'm not the only one to be upset to be left by my best friend you know Dutch! You weren’t exactly fun to be around after that."

"And who's fault was that?"

"Sure as hell weren't mine!” he was yelling now, Dutch deceivingly blank face only further enraging him, “You know what, I’m not surprised Charles fucked away as soon as he talked to you- he didn’t even want to meet you in the first place! Bet you said something nasty to him, bet you drove him away from me on purpose!" Arthur was breathing hard now, a bit afraid- he hadn’t talked to Dutch like this in years. "You know what, fine- I don't need you, I’ll just go fuckin' find him myself."

"Go ahead, and for your sake- I hope you don't find him!" Dutch hissed back. Arthur didn’t look back, just jumped onto his horse and rode out.

-

Arthur returned to town that very night- combing through the shops and streets like a hound on a scent. He interrogated as many shopkeepers as would stand for it, in the face of his poorly hidden anger one timid man even cried out for the sheriff to run him off. He fled then. Continued elsewhere in town. But nothing. A few people remembered Charles passing through, but that had been days ago.

"Still haven’t found each other then?" the gunsmith chuckled, not one bit disturbed by the deep scowl Arthur could feel on his own forehead. He leaned closer, the first promising sign of the evening presenting itself finally.

"What you mean, he was looking for me? When?"

"A week back maybe, seemed real upset."

"Exactly a week?"

"I don’t know, probably less. Three, four days? I don't remember every detail of every day. Jesus."

Arthur didn't back down. "He say anything else?"

"Not that I remember, just asked if I'd seen you. I said no. He rushed off. No big story here."

"Shit."

"Well, you're welcome."

"Sorry. Here, gimme that catalog- I'll buy something." Perhaps he shouldn't be buying goods in this state, the tower of ammunition in front of him kept growing, but when he was done, the shopkeeper seemed to have all but forgiven him.

He tried to resist the truth as he continued on through the town; Charles wasn’t around anymore. But where he went, Arthur had no clue- probably into the woods where he could hunt with confidence, but Arthur was no tracker.

He returned to Dutch that night, angry and tired. Dutch just nodded to him mildly. Arthur glared and went to bed, feeling petty and mean.

-

He dreamt of mountains and snow. Bundled in thick pelts cinched closed with a massive adult sized belt. The laughter around him was infectious and light. Dutch and Hosea laughed at his appearance, but Arthur couldn't help but smile down at his little gloved hands. He'd never seen snow like this- it wasn't even cold.

"Arthur, come on- let's go inside and eat," Hosea asked. When he looked up, he could see John through the window, glaring out at them all from the gloom. It made him laugh more, falling over into the snowy fluff. He burrowed deeper into the white, dug out a little nest and curled up.

He heard calm voices above him, words shrouded by the distance, lulling him to sleep. Laughter then, Dutch had said something that sent Hosea into a fit of it.

-

When Arthur woke up, he didn't even bother to put on his boots. Just got up and headed over to Dutch's tent.

"Dutch?" It was late, but Arthur saw the older man was still awake by the stiffness of his shoulders, one of them twitching subtly at the words breathed into the night.

"Yes Arthur?" The words were mild.

"Where’d Hosea go? Do you even know?"

"Course I do, I’m just willing to give him the space he needs. Bessie changed him you know, made him see things differently- for better or for worse. He'll come around."

"Tell me then, think I'm starting to see some things different too."

Dutch sat up and that, and the expression he turned on Arthur held less anger than earlier and more sadness, despite the scowl that sought to disguise it. They stared at each other for a time, and Dutch finally pointed him to the rug. Arthur didn’t particularly want to sit.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I don't really want to do half of what you think I should. Maybe I did at one point, but I’m tired."

"This still about Charles?"

"No. It ain't about Charles. It’s about me."

“Maybe that’s just the problem. It always was just about you, isn’t it?”

-

Arthur smoked at the edge of camp that night, weighing over his options. He could just leave, head for the mountains and hope Hosea and Bessie still had an affinity for the cold. But they had a child in tow now, perhaps he wouldn’t risk icy peaks and scarce food. And what if Charles changed his mind and Arthur was long gone?

"Arthur! Were you out here all night? Bill was supposed to take over, wasn't he?" Susan looked enraged now, for his sake apparently. Bill was in for a rude awakening soon.

"Don’t mind, wasn’t very sleepy anyway."

"Cause of Dutch then?" Arthur failed to answer, "I heard a bit of it, and I'll give you the same advice I gave all my girls back in Hayworth."

"Ain't one of your girls."

"I know that! But you are still a young fool. Just go easy, don't rock the boat so much- Dutch will never, and I mean never, give in. A man like him just isn't built for it. You can't just bark out questions and orders and expect to get your way." Arthur couldn't help chuckle that somehow escaped his mouth.

"Arthur Morgan!" She slapped him on the arm, a hard-mouthed scowl clouding her face. "I can because I worked up to it. I was meek and understanding and obedient right up until the point I didn’t need to be any longer. It ain’t right, it shouldn’t be that way- but it’s a tough world. All I'm saying is, if you want something from Dutch, he's gotta think you’re playing his game. Let him trust you again and you'll get much further."

Arthur grunted at this, some suspicious part of him sure Dutch had put her up to this, that even this was some misplaced attempt at reconciliation through manipulation. He didn’t want to back down, after years of doing just that.

"He was a much better man with Hosea by his side. It was a better time. But Arthur?" He swallowed at her calculating gaze, "if you leave and choose to stay gone, I won’t blame you one bit. At one point I’d kill anyone for even mentioning it. But now… don’t think this is much of a family no more."

Arthur spent the rest of the morning deep in thought again. Then he went to make peace with Dutch. If Dutch knew more than he was letting on- about Hosea or Charles- Arthur meant to find out what.

-

But days passed and nothing changed, he still patrolled the towns hoping to spot his friend, still poked at Dutch to reveal anything. It’d been a hard couple of weeks, following Susan’s advice and working again. He almost didn’t have time to think about his adventures traipsing around with Charles, the weeks together precariously balanced in the back of his mind like a fleeting dream. Ever since their heated conversation, Dutch flashed between two extremes, as changeable as the weather. One minute, patting him on the shoulder in affirmation, the next barking out orders and sending him into town in search of money with hard words and references to Arthur’s betrayal. He’d gritted his teeth into what he’d intended as a smile and nodded each time. Had stopped himself from any more outbursts at the man.

He’d done three jobs this week. Had killed two people. Fucked another two. A couple times Dutch had even overseen the exchanges from across the saloon floor, watching Arthur filing up the stairs. And he’d be there when Arthur was done, like all those years back. Arthur honestly didn’t mind the work most of the time. Perhaps it was embarrassing sometimes, or painful if someone was too rough but he was used to it- tried not to take any insults personally. It’d been many years since he’d struggled sleep over it, since he’d felt any shame at his proclivities. But Dutch’s insistence of being present enraged him.

It was if after the month away Dutch had lost every ounce of trust he’d ever had in Arthur, as if he expected him to bolt off with every person he met. It reminded him of his younger days when he was confused and irritated by nearly everything he encountered, prone to lashing out and wild tantrums, sparked to anger faster than he knew how to handle. One time he’d even lunged at Dutch and given him a bloody nose after a particular dismissive comment regarding his particular skill-set. The older man had restrained him, pushed him down and hissed into his ears.

“I swore I would never lay hands on you, after everything your daddy did. You trying to test me? Is that it? Well I’ll have you know I’ve got other ways to sort you out- I don’t need a belt.” It hadn’t been a good month after that, especially with Hosea gone to the mountains somewhere with Bessie for their first trip of many to come. And Dutch hadn’t even done anything, just ignored him completely. Every nightmare, every injury to be met with emptiness and apathy.

But this time around he was ready for Dutch’s calm displeasure every time the older man saw him drink anything or buy anything ‘unnecessary,’ was used to his own nightmares and tending to his own wounds. After such infractions Dutch only talked to him when it was necessary, but Arthur ignored him right back, knowing any attempts to explain his behavior would only bring Dutch’s ire down him. The other men followed their lead, and kept to themselves, Susan the only one who acted no different. Every drink and resulting glare reminded him that he’d gone from Dutch’s prized second in command, to dirt under his shoe as Dutch became more and more convinced his month away had been solely morphine and fucking. But Arthur was oddly okay with it, didn’t cling to every word like he had in the past.

-

Today was a day much like the last week, Dutch had fetched him from his cot in the afternoon, made a comment about going into town. Arthur knew what that meant, it hadn’t changed over the years, despite everyone in the goddam camp knowing what it meant. Hosea hadn’t for a time. The ride down was quiet, neither man having much to say. They got their usual table, their usual drinks and waited.

It was always the same in a place like this, any regulars would just throw a glance, invite him up with their eyes- no words needed in the exchange. The new clients were a bit trickier, some being overly touchy to the point of spectacle, others refusing to meet his eyes completely, either in shame or embarrassment. These types were annoying, required Arthur to maintain a higher level of patience- not everyone could be charming in their inexperience. But today it seemed he had some regulars to deal with- two of them. The first one was seemed determined to glare a whole straight though him. Pig man, straight from the sty if looked like.

Arthur did his best to ignore the man, finally turned to Dutch to try and drag some conversation out as an excuse. Dutch went along easily, that was part of the game. Arthur hardly recognized the words pouring out, didn’t matter what they were saying at all, as long as he appeared too busy to notice his angry shadow.

"Hey, you!" The familiar face popped up right behind him, forcing him to turn around. Games could only get him so far, it seemed. He really didn't want to deal with this today.

"What?"

"You up for sale again?" Arthur scoffed, after everything that happened between them?

"Nah, I don’t think so. Not for pigs anyway," he shrugged and turned away, but was ready for the man to lash out and dodged away from his clumsy arm. They'd fought before and even then, booze lighting up his blood, Arthur had easily downed him.

"Calm down boys. What seems to be the problem?" Dutch.

"This little slut won’t cooperate." Arthur easily had twenty pounds on the man, and more than a few inches. Dutch looked between them with raised eyebrows.

"Well maybe you shouldn't call him that if you expect to get anything. He doesn't owe you anything." Finally after a tense glaring session between them, the man backed off with a curse and angry grunt- as if the older man’s words held so much more than Arthur’s own.

"I'll kill ya, if you ever come near me again," Arthur snapped at him as he slunk away under their gazes, suddenly furious at Dutch for stepping in, some petty part of him wanting Dutch to experience the same shit he did, day after day.

"Oh calm down, he's hardly one to get the upper hand over you. Just let it go." Arthur returned to their table, swallowed down Dutch's own beer, daring him to mention it with a deep scowl. There’d been others like him before, too many to count, but now, even the retreating form sent rage down to his core. The man’s entitlement, his hard words to him and Charles. Dutch.

"Don’t think I will." The red-haired man from earlier threw him a glance but he averted his eyes, suddenly tired. "Think we're done here."

"What?"

"You heard me. And you heard me last week, don’t wanna do this no more." Arthur wasn't quite sure what Dutch made of that, his face was blank.

“Because of that fool?”

“No, not really. Just startin’ to wonder if any of this is worth it.”

"I never made you do nothing. It was your own choice,” Dutch said defensively. And Arthur supposed he was right, it’d always been his choice. It’d been years ago, when all this started, a few years after joining up with Dutch and Hosea. He been young then, invincible to the world- unapologetic in his actions. He’d been dealt a shit hand, who was anyone to tell him how to play it?

-

He’d made the first move. Been the one to back the older boy up into the tree and place an awkward kiss on his lips. Hadn’t been anything special to be honest, his heart beating too fast, hands shaking more from fear from excitement. But he’d planned it for weeks, ever since he’d seen the drawings in Samuel’s journal.

It’d been an accident really, the leather-bound thing resembling his own closely enough for him to casually fling it open. But those were no drawings of flowers or horses, they were of men. Naked men. Arthur had whipped his head around wildly, suddenly afraid Dutch or Hosea were right behind him. But of course, they weren’t- he was as alone as ever. What had that idiot been thinking, leaving such a thing out for anyone to see? It was obscene almost, but Arthur wasn’t so opposed to giving them another look. They were rather well drawn, maybe he’d need to ask how Samuel got such clean lines. From then on, he’d been plotting. Waiting for the right moment and inserting himself closer to the boy, laughing more at his jokes and hanging off every word. It was thrilling, seeing eyes turn to him, watching everything fall to plan.

Samuel had kissed him back immediately, and Arthur was thrilled to feel the older boy’s hands fall to his hips. But then Hosea had come across them and Samuel cringed back from him, punching Arthur square in the face before spouting some lie about being blindsided by Arthur’s affections. It didn’t hurt very much; it wasn’t a strong hit but Arthur could only freeze in horror as Hosea rushed the boy. Arthur had never seen Hosea moved to violence, not ever. But the older man grabbed Samuel and shoved him back hard, his typically gentle hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Don’t you touch him you lying little dog!” he spit out. Samuel fled then and Arthur never saw him again. Just like that their newest gang member was gone, leaving no trace to mark he’d ever been there are all. Hosea and Dutch fought that night but Arthur wasn’t brave enough to try and eavesdrop, the context of the fight almost compelled him to flee himself.

But it was Dutch who sought him out later, listened to him through the night. Didn't condemn or judge him, just patted him on the back and offered him kind words. He wasn’t in the wrong, it didn’t matter, Dutch would never abandon him. He claimed him as his son for the first time that night. Hosea found him the next day, offered him a smile and a little apology- similar vows of safety and family offered up. But Dutch’s words had taken root first, his immediate understanding.

Samuel wasn’t his last let down though, the whole next year was a long chain of disappointments- he fell too easily for other boys with real families and obligations, was chased away by angry wives after being caught in older men’s beds. One fellow had caught his heart in the way the others couldn’t, but he’d chosen to leave with his uncle instead of joining up with Dutch. The two of them resurfaced weeks later, strung up on the gallows for larceny.

Mary had been a good distraction, and in a way, Arthur _had_ really loved her. She was his best friend, and his thoughts shifted from other men to her, to the idea of a family, children, an escape from life on the run. But he felt no attraction to her, despite her beautiful curls and soft lips, and when he finally admitted his truth to her in tears, she had dropped him like something diseased- and how could he blame her? He offered her nothing but a life of disappointment. It’d been a nice idea, to marry his best friend, but he just couldn’t shake his inversions. Didn’t want to exactly, but losing her hurt all the same. She’d told her father of course, the man transforming from the kind and dignified man Arthur had come to admire to a hateful beast- threats of bullets and lynching and all manner of things raining down on his head as he fled from her for that last time. She’d never forgive him for the lies.

It’d been months later, after a fight with an ill-advised rebound that Dutch had approached him. It had been especially rough incident that left Arthur bleeding and morose. Dutch sat him down and spoke bluntly.

“May as well get something for it all, huh? I hate to see you hurt like this. Maybe you just need to approach things a little differently, son. These bastards wanna keep using you, why not charge them for it?” Arthur didn’t mention he was just as bad. That he had a habit of falling for men he knew were no-good, just like himself. Made a game of it sometimes.

“Yeah, alright Dutch. May as well.”

-

But now, as Arthur finally spoke his mind, Dutch’s eyes were hard.

"Okay then Arthur, if that's really what you want. If you've got it in your head that you're a good man, that this is your first step into the civilized world, you'll be sorely mistaken."

"I don’t think nothing, don’t think I’m a good man. But I don't wanna do this no more and that's the end of it."

Dutch struggled to keep his face mild as he rushed to dissuade him. “Don’t be so hasty, don’t let shame rule you like this- you had something good going. Got paid well for it.”

“I ain’t ashamed, just done.”

For all the disappoint on Dutch’s face, the fireworks he'd expected never came. The endless lines and blunders that Dutch could easily throw back at him were left buried in the past. But before they left, Dutch drained a final shot and slammed it onto the countertop.

"I accepted you when nobody else did, you know. Even Hosea, he was horrified to learn about it. Horrified. I was the only one to understand you all those years back."

"That weren’t understandin', Dutch." That was profiteering.

It was a tense ride back, wallets emptier than ever, but Arthur felt lighter as he finally sunk down into the rough cot. He’d hunt tomorrow.

-

The next day, he did little more than grab his bow before he was off again, heading north into the woods. He wanted space to breathe. The moss was soft from rain, but Ruby's hooves were sturdy and stable if nothing else. She swerved easily among the trees as Arthur scanned the dewy vegetation for prey. Copper padded along easily too, happy to be free of camp. It took him a while, much longer than it would have under Charles’s supervision, but eventually a little doe offered up her back.

The shot was true, and even from a distance Arthur could tell she wasn't getting up- the ground around her already deep red from the severed jugular. Perhaps he took too long with the butchery, but each cut was delicately made, and the pelt came out cleaner for it. He bundled each piece up, strapping them to Ruby, one by one. Then he killed two rabbits. A wild turkey. By the end he was a bloody mess of sinew and feathers, but the camp would eat. He’d feed every last damn mouth in that camp, one way or another.

He camped in the woods that night, not far from camp in distance but worlds away. He finally cracked his journal open for the first time in ages and recorded the last week’s notes. Drew a few pictures: the doe as she stood upon the hill, the wild turkey as she hung off the saddle, feathers shedding in death. Copper panting on the ground with a grinning maw filled with the fluffy things. He traced over her collar as they both absorbed heat from their little fire- it was a peaceful night, almost perfect.

Dutch didn’t try and stop him from his hunting trips after seeing the bounty Arthur delivered that first day. The gang ate better, more meat and less cans of ominous sludge. He even got the occasional pat on the shoulder when he lugged a deer carcass across the camp. Maybe the occasional grin or little passing joke from Bill. He’d even accomplished fending off the approaching plan to move on, appealing to Dutch with a gesture to the large pile of meat.

“Woods are good here Dutch. Lots of wildlife, more than I’ve seen before.” Dutch had grumbled a bit but backed down. Told him he had two more weeks. Arthur still made the occasional trip into town, still made the occasional inquiry. Left notes to the man hidden about all the spots they’d frequented together.

-

That night, Arthur was pulled from his thoughts as he watched said man approach him in his wagon, must be about some job. Dutch gestured to the chair beside him, a silent question. Arthur nodded, equally silent.

“You know I was just trying to protect you, right Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

“Of course, it’s all I ever tried to do- from that first night all those years ago. You might not always see it but it’s the truth for me and Hosea both. You may not be blood, but you’re ours all the same.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say Dutch? I’ve brought in more money than the rest of them for weeks! Brought in food and jewelry and horses.” Arthur had seen the log, all Bill had brought in was a single gold chain and a letter opener this week.

“And what about all those weeks you were away? The hunting is great and I support it, but you can’t expect me to forget what happened. You think penance now makes up for all the suffering you caused? From your letter, you made it sound like you were working. You lied to me.” Arthur didn’t answer, didn’t know. “Look son,” Dutch didn’t sound angry now, just immensely tired, “I’m not trying to be mean, but you aren’t built like the rest of us. Some things are just not possible. Thought you already understood that years ago.” Arthur crossed his arms with a glare, he didn’t want to hear any of it, “I’m not saying it’s wrong, surely you’re just as normal as the rest of us. But you ain’t going to find what you’re looking for. Not in that young fool, not in no one- it’s best if you accept that. Just look at Bill. I know you’ve been off looking for him in town again and I’ve given you time. But now we have to move on. Okay?”

Arthur’s mouth was dry, he looked at the dirty floor under them. Dutch’s tone was fatherly, as sympathetic as it had been weeks before as he held the bucket beneath him and listened to him admit his involvement with Charles. “But you’ve still got family, folks who care about you- who would give their lives for you. Isn’t their love worth something to you?”

“Course Dutch, course it is.” But not yours Dutch, he thought. Not anymore. “You don’t know, do you? Where Hosea and John went.”

“No,” he finally admitted, uttering the one-word Arthur had suspected for months. “They’ll come back though; I know it.”

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back: ‘why Dutch? Why in hell would they come back?’

He turned from Dutch then, went to bed early. He didn’t want to be here anymore, couldn’t manage to summon any reason to stay. But had nowhere else to go. Dutch moved them out the following day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Arthur, failing to get a useful word of out the man. But there's no way he'd ever admit what actually happened.


	9. Chapter 9

Charles woke to complete darkness and cold like he’d never faced before. He felt more than saw the gentle water lapping against him, each pull of the water sending him into a new spasm of shivers, his teeth only protected from endless clattering by the bandana stuffed in his mouth. He went to spit it out but found he couldn’t. Similarly his arms and legs wouldn’t budge, as if his whole body was paralyzed by the tight ropes. He tried yelling out for help but the cloth in his mouth prevented all but the most pitiful muffled grunt. So he closed his eyes, exhausted after what felt like a dozen attempts, only to open them to the sun, gleaming down at him.

At least now he could see, was finally sure he was alive as clouds, rocks, and muddy water filled his vision. He was close to shore, swept along into a rocky alcove, but as he tried to roll out of the water onto the rocks, he came up a foot short, body collapsing back into the six inches of water. If he could only get to his knees, he’d have leverage to launch himself out, but after just two attempts, he found himself gasping into the sodden rag in equal pain and exhaustion. His ribs were on fire and all his muscles seemed like jelly.

So he focused on the ropes instead, tried to maneuver them over the sharp rocks to cut through. But for all the jagged rock that tore at his skin through the sodden coat, the rope was made of stronger stuff- not even fraying at the movement. But his wrists did, every drag of the rope pulling a gasp out of him. He could see the tree line not a hundred yards away but for all his thrashing, he couldn’t manage to budge more than a few inches.

He felt detached from reality as the hours passed by in silence. He finally fell back into sleep. It was evening when he woke again. He tried to curse out from behind the cloth and for a few sickening seconds, he wished van der Linde had just cut his throat on the spot and been done with it. He’d never wanted to die before, but he was so cold. He eyed the deeper water as it beckoned- maybe he should just roll in again, face down and free himself from this. But of course he wouldn’t, he was afraid, recalling the icy water ripping into his lungs- his own final thoughts little more than panic and confusion. He’d heard it said that people think back on their life, that they see images of their loved ones- but Charles had seen nothing. Only darkness and an overwhelming need to escape, to break out of his ropes, to breathe again.

Now, in addition to fear and hopelessness, an anger was starting to take hold and after all these hours, he couldn’t stop the angry tears. Arthur was no doubt following this man around, listening to his sympathies while secretly laughing about how he’d killed Charles. Probably would in the end. He wanted to scream at the injustice, that van der Linde preached acceptance and class but resorted to this without even getting his side of the story, without even trying to understand. He began sawing away again, ignoring the pain and tearing, almost welcoming it, as if his pain was payment needed for freedom. But if there was any progress, he couldn’t feel it.

As the sun began to set again, forcing the last bits of light across the riverbed, he forced a glance. The ropes were sodden with more than muddy river water now, and his hands burned. More than his throat or busted ankle, his wrists felt on fire. He would sleep now, then continue. But when he woke the shivering consumed all his energy, he felt hot and cold and confused. He reckoned he wanted to sleep more so he did. He woke again, moved a bit. He tried to talk through the gag, perhaps he did.

Charles didn’t know how many hours or days had passed when he finally heard a human voice. He’d heard many in the last day, once it had been Arthur’s, once it had been his mother’s. This one was rougher.

“You! Over there. You alive?” He couldn’t make any productive sound so he just flailed around, hoping the movement would be noticed. To his utter confusion his right wrist was already free, he must have broken out at some point in the night, but he had no memory of the moment. Only a swatch of nightmares. The shout was real enough though, a small boat eventually pulling up beside him. He removed the gag from his own mouth with shaking hands, fingers stumbling on the tight knot. He should have fled into the woods the second his bonds snapped but his memories of the previous night were hazy. These men would kill him now.

“Shit Jim, look at this poor guy, he’s clearly disturbed. Why you just sittin’ there like that?” Charles felt more tears trailing down his face and were confused by them, he couldn’t say anything. “What you do to deserve this? Shit in someone’s shoe?” He just stared back, head throbbing. “Think he’d sink if we drop him like that?” He waited for rough hands and incoming water, but the other fisherman just cut the remaining ropes and helped pull him to his feet in the shallow water.

“Poor bastard. Don’t listen to him.” Relief and confusion spiraled though his mind in equal measure. He didn’t talk to either of them really, though he know he should ask the way to town. Knew he needed food.

They left him there at the shoreline with a brief salute from Jim and grumble from the other. He fell over when he tried to walk, but they had already kicked off from the shore, clearly at their limit in helpfulness. What now? When he looked up at the sheer cliff rising before him, he could only turn away in disgust, no way he was getting to Tacksville that way. So he turned to the woods instead and started up the path, leaning heavily on a piece of driftwood.

The trip through the woods was the hardest few miles Charles had ever experienced, every tree root or pile of rocks more treacherous than the previous. Burning pain shot through his leg with every step- despite him not being able to find a clean break, the whole thing was still swollen and purple. Despite years of easily navigating woods such as these, it now seemed that his outdoor skills had finally failed him- he couldn’t tell where he was going and saw no signs of life. Didn’t even know what direction town was. The fever crept back in waves. But at some point, he smelled fire, saw smoke in the sky and shifted his path- he was almost to town. Footsteps began to pop up, trodden leaves, a dropped coin. He stumbled along, a couple times needing to backtrack after some false leads and dead ends, but he was onto something now- there were people nearby.

His head throbbed, eyes failing to remain clear even as he rejoined the living world. But it wasn’t the sprawling town he’d expected. It was a small settlement, more of a homestead that a town, the cabins and tents clustered around the central firepit shoddy and plain.

White faces in white robes turned to look as he approached, and he paused at the mumbling and fearful looks pointed his direction, suddenly uncomfortable. He tried to turn around, but his legs failed him, knees knocking together clumsily, as if his body had other ideas. He only made it a couple steps further before he collapsed to the ground. He heard footfalls in the distance. The odd shout. There were hands on him, and he was being dragged.

“I’ll be okay Mister, just relax- all men are welcome here.”

“All are welcome here,” more voices now, some hesitant. He felt someone easing him down onto something soft, saw another with a waterskin. The voices were calm and gentle, a steady rhythm of words. He thought perhaps he was dying.

-

But he awoke again, bright light leaking into the room. He surveyed the little cabin, finding it bare and confusing in the disparity between the shining medical equipment and the rough furnishings and straw floor. There was a man sitting beside him, humming softly as he poked at his leg gently. His head still throbbed, but his thoughts were clear and his leg less swollen, elevated on a bed of straw as it was.

"You did quite a number on the leg you know?" Charles just grunted in pain as the man finally took his leg in both hands and twisted it a bit. "Broke it good, up the length- it’s a wonder you've put weight on it for so long. How many days did you walk on it?" He looked around, tried again to make sense of the small shack he’d been laid in. There was a filthy pelt under him, if the smell was anything to go by, but the man above him looked kind enough, little spectacled eyes peering down at him.

"A day maybe." But now that he tried to recall the journey, he had no real measure of time. It could have been hours or days.

"Very irresponsible, my friend. Should have gone straight to a doctor- would be much better off that way. Dr. Bernard but people just call me Bernard around here, we don’t use titles."

"Sure. Charles."

"Nice to finally meet you, you slept a while. Now, the one bit of good news is I see no sign of infection in the leg. It's broken all right, but not shattered- with the right treatment, you'll easily keep the leg." Charles impulsively tried to shift it, earning him a little glare.

"The hands are a different story though, not sepsis mind you, not yet. But nothing nice either. For now though, I’ll just give you a little something more for the pain." Charles startled at that.

"I'm fine."

"No offense, but you don’t look fine to me and it's perfectly safe when administered correctly. I don’t usually use it for our folks, given our beliefs, but I’m willing to bend the rules a bit for an outsider." Charles could only shake his head. The awkward silence stretched out before them, but finally the man moved to put down the medicine.

"Well... if you really don't want it, I can't force the matter.” The spectacled gaze tightened. “I'm going to set the bone in a cast, but I may need to shift it around some. And it’s probably just a fracture, but it'll be weeks before you're up again." Charles kept very still, even as Dr. Bernard handed him a strip of leather to bite down on and laid out his selection of sharp metallic tools. “If you change your mind about the morphine, let me know.”

All things considered; the procedure was less painful than he'd suggested- the actual shifting much less strenuous than the time trekking through the woods. He held his breath, bit into the leather and tried his best to turn his thoughts to better times. Then, he slept again- a sudden exhaustion sweeping him off, only waking again when the moon was high in the night sky. The doctor was still on his vigil a few feet from the pallet.

"I didn't ask this earlier because you looked too weak and dejected but... will you have the money to cover this?" the doctor asked from beside him. He didn't. Not one cent to his name.

"Not at the moment," he replied. He hadn’t intended on finding a doctor at all, expensive as they were- he’d intended on collecting his horse in Tacksville as setting off on his own again. But here he was, indebted to a stranger.

"Didn't think so.” Charles prepared to be sent off into the woods with nothing more than the clothes on his back and took survey of his bandaged hands and set leg. It wasn’t pretty, but his head felt clearer and less feverous. He might make it assuming they’d spare directions. But the doctor didn’t jump to exile him, just sighed and continued on gently. "Maybe we could exchange services for the treatment? It wasn't a particularly difficult procedure.” Charles nodded, that sounded fair.

"Of course, I don’t know how much help I can be- but I'll try."

"Great! I’ll and come up with some work, once you’re ready for it. For now, just focus on healing."

“Alright. Can I ask where we are though? Can’t be far from Tacksville.”

“Oh we are far, I assure you. It’s a different type of life here in our commune.”

“But geographically, I mean. It has to be close.” The man frowned at him consideringly then shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s not far. Don’t let any of the others hear you talking about it though- this is a rather particular community I think you’ll find.” When he left the cabin, the doctor left a little dish of water and another of food and a folded white tunic with a turtle on it, much like the one he found himself wearing.

-

But for all the weirdness of the day, that night, for the first time in days Charles felt hopeful- he was alive and the fever had broken. He ate the meager offering of food with an enthusiasm that surprised him and drained the water too fast. There was no lantern in the cabin though, and as the sun set the only light to see by was from the central bonfire, tendrils of lights snaking through the logs of the shoddily crafted cabin walls. When the low voices began he could only strain to listen in, curious about the nature of the settlement he’d stumbled across.

“Shell of safety, protect us now and forever. Guide us.” It sounded rather tame, some sort of religious meeting. But then the pained noises started, building up into full blown screaming as Charles struggled to make sense of it, struggled to keep himself from panicking. It sounded like the man was being tortured, high pitch screaming and wailing lighting up the whole night. Charles dragged himself closer to the walls to try and catch a glimpse of what they were doing to him but could see nothing but shadows moving around. If they planned on sacrificing him like that too, Charles would make sure to take as many of them down with him as possible.

“And so, you are whole. Timothy, Jeb. Awaken into our shell.”

That night the little medical cabin had two more patients. Charles tried not to stare, focused on the rough timber roofing instead, the straw bursting out from under it. Tried to drone out the pained crying teenager and cooing doctor out. The smell of burnt flesh.

“Don’t cry Jeb, we’re part of something great. The pain is a small price to pay,” one burnt man said to the other younger man.

“Oh be quiet, let the boy cry- he’s young, it’s hard giving yourself to the fire like that. And as a doctor…well, it’s a dangerous thing for any man to do,” Dr. Bernard snapped, tending to them both in a rush. If anything, Charles was more confused- they’d intentionally burned themselves in the fire?

“What do you know? Your still bound by the shackles of society. Still carrying around all those syringes and saws like a gentleman straight from Saint Denis. Seemed too happy to welcome an outsider into our midst!” The man spit out, surprisingly coherent for a man suffering through such severe burns.

“And without all this training, you’d be meeting your salvation faster than proclaimed! Would be making a premature entry to the ranks! And aren’t we always in need of new blood?” It got quiet and Charles felt scrutiny turned his way and closed his eyes.

“You want to initiate _him_?”

“Skin is only a wrapping, when all is burnt away, we are all the same. Isn’t that how it goes?”

“We didn’t choose him though, he just stumbled in here by chance.”

“Oh, just take your medicine- you’ll need it after frying your arm like that.” These men were demented. Arthur would love to hear about it.

-

But as the week passed, the leg did heal. It was a slow process, awkward and painful, but he had a bed and food. Luckily the ever-busy doctor was down to Earth, unique from the other patients filing through the cabin, and Charles had to wonder if the man even believed any of this as he mixed medicines and sewed wounds. He certainly didn’t look too pleased when an older robed man took to sitting by Charles’s side, educating him on all the tenants of their religion. Charles just nodded along and tried to hide his confusion. They called themselves Chalonians and followed teachings that seemed to contradict themselves- being freeing yet restrictive simultaneously. He wore the turtle robes easily enough but when the older man handed him a pair of scissors and pointed to his hair with the words ‘earthy vanity,’ Charles could only blink back in outrage.

“I’ll work to pay off any debt, but I won’t do that.” The man just smiled at him, a bit patronizingly.

“When you come to understand the freedom of discipline, you’ll be ready for initiation. It’s a journey that can be completed in a day or a lifetime depending on the man, you may just take more time.” But not women it seemed, the camp was made up of a good fifteen men of all ages but there was not a single woman in sight. When Charles asked one day, he’d received a glare and curt word.

“Women are a temptation we do not permit. All wars have been started from these urges and trappings.”

“I hardly see how that’s the case. What about children?”

“In an ideal world, there would be no need.”

“What?”

“In an ideal world there would be no need.”

“I heard you, it’s just...”

“We will all reach Chelonia one day, if we live the right way and work towards that eventuality. Children will too, if they come to us of their own free will. But any child brought into this cruel world is ultimately a mistake as our teachings could never reach the masses.” Charles didn’t bother arguing on, he’d felt despair over the years, felt his life was unnecessary, but the purpose they promised him was nothing short of lunacy. So he just tuned it out and focused on helping Dr. Bernard with his medicine preparation whenever he could.

Better were the days when he’d play the odd game of cards with Dr. Bernard or answer the man’s questions about what he’d seen in town- the newest styles, political figures from the newspaper, town gossip. Charles left out all mention of Arthur or their criminal pursuits, but talking about normal subjects helped keep him sane as he struggled against the urge leave, crawling if he had to. But then the wounds would open, and the fevers would return, leaving Charles shaking throughout the night.

“It’s not surprising. You didn’t just cut your wrists up, they were practically skinned- the healing isn’t so different from the burn wounds I see. Be patient and let them heal, then you can hurry off to wherever you’re so set of going.”

-

So Charles was patient, and a week later, the bandages finally came off. He found himself peeling potatoes and carrots. Stripping down leather and scrubbing pots. The work was shared amongst the men equally here, no difference in age or standing. It was mindless work, but Charles had never shied away from such things. But he had no intention to stay even one more day than necessary, and as his leg grew stronger, he began plotting his next steps. At one point he devised a non-sensical plan of sneaking up and stabbing van der Linde dead before he even had the chance to speak, but clearly that was madness. He hated the man, but he was like Arthur’s father and Charles would sooner walk away from them both than hurt Arthur like that. But the violent thoughts continued against his will, growing stronger as his body finally started to mend in earnest- for every soft dream of Arthur, there’d be another of blood and vengeance.

He tried to focus on the potato, tuning out the confusing mass of emotions cycling though his head. He had no idea what he’d do or say if her ever did find Arthur and van der Linde, and his worries grew as his wounds healed and he took his first independent steps. He didn’t even know if he’d survive such an encounter. He startled at the voice behind him.

“You heard my words, our truths, but you don’t mean to join us, do you? I keep seeing you look out into the woods with discontent. Did we not offer you security and healing here?” It was the older robed man, their leader. Charles didn’t respond immediately, struggling to decide whether he should just bow his head and give the man the affirmations he sought to end the conversation. But he was tired of lying, of hiding his thoughts.

“I’m sorry but I have someone waiting for me.” Maybe. “I need to get into town to find this person.”

"A woman? A Lover?" His voice had gotten hard and judging.

"Something like that- we got separated a while back. Right before the injury."

“We healed you. Gave you a lifetime. You owe an equal debt.”

“What?”

“We’d hoped you’d join our cause.”

“Clearly I never agreed with you. You hate children and women and expect me to burn myself. For what? To prove my loyalty? I won’t impose any longer, I’ll head out right this second!” The anger had hit him all at once, perhaps some of it left over aggression from his fixation on van der Linde, but it was the truth all the same. But the grimace that grew more pronounced on the other man’s face suggested he may not be so free to do that. “Unless you mean to try and stop me?” The man glared back at him for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“We don’t believe in hurting others. But you’re wrong, and you think you’re better for all the trappings you fall to.”

“You’re having children hurt themselves!”

“It’s their own choice. Youth doesn’t equate idiocy. They had nothing, were nothing out there- here they find belonging and purpose. What’s so wrong with that?” Charles didn’t answer him, had no philosophical defense ready, nothing he could offer to try and reconcile. So he didn’t try.

“I’m sorry, but I’m taking the mule.”

“What?”

“Your mule. You can’t do anything to stop me, right?” Suddenly, Charles was desperate to leave this place, thievery be damned. He’d stayed here long enough in his efforts to pay off a debt and heal his wrists but he’d had enough. They only had the one aging beast in camp, but that would have to do- he’d ride it just as far as town before collecting his own horse from the stables. Hopefully he’d find Arthur. “I’ll leave it in town for you, I don’t mean to wrong you after you helped me. But for now, I need it.”

“But we can’t go there to retrieve it! It’s not permitted!”

“I’ll bring it back,” the doctor strolled up, posture relaxed as he shifted closer to the tense conversation. “Need to go into town for supplies anyway, I’ll go with him.”

The man only spluttered over at him as they crossed to where the mangy beast was tied up by the side of camp, his leg was screaming beneath him but he managed to get there with a straight face and only a slight limp. A few other pairs of bewildered eyes turned to him from around the fire. Mounting her was a bit tricky with the cast still unbalancing him but with he was an experienced rider and was able to drag himself up. No one lifted a finger to stop them as he rode right out of the camp, other man walking along at his side, moon as a guide.

It took them a day and a half with Charles on the slow old mule and the doctor on foot. But trees seemed to part before him, path overwhelmingly obvious in a way it hadn’t been weeks before. Birdsong and deer movement betrayed the direction of the river, of the homesteads dotting the forest. It was if he could finally breath again, and he found himself happier for the changing scenery. He wouldn’t be setting himself on fire and eating undercooked potatoes for the rest of his life. He tried not to think of the younger boys there, buying up the promises of security with wide eyes.

“Do you even believe any of it?” Charles found himself asking as they continued on through the woods on the main road now, embarrassed that he’d offended the man the second the words spilled out.

“Who’s to say, I found community there when I was ostracized from ‘polite society.’ Don’t think too high of some of the rituals, but they truly helped me when I had nothing. I can’t abandon them to kill themselves.”

“But…”

“I know it doesn’t make sense to an outsider, but all those folks were driven there by something. We have all manner of outcasts, but not the one of them ever raised a hand against anyone. They’re decent.”

“I can understand that, I suppose. It just seems like a hard position you put yourself in as a doctor.”

“It is. But let’s just say I have family there- or something close enough. I can’t abandon them.”

“Sorry.” Dr. Bernard just shrugged with a smile.

Traveling with a doctor did have it’s perks though, and Charles found himself glad for the company even if their pace was very slow to accommodate the older man. Every few hours the doctor forced Charles to offer up his injuries for inspection, each time nodding happily. The rations were small though and he found himself ravenous, it seemed that the doctor followed some of their restrictive teachings. But the man distracted him from his own anxious and violent thoughts with some grisly medical knowledge Charles hoped to never need.

When Tacksville finally sprung up before them, the filthy little town a welcome sight. His first stop was the stables but both horses were gone, as was Copper- the stablemaster reporting that two men had taken them weeks back.

“Seemed real hungover, the big guy,” the man chuckled, “couldn’t even get on the damn horse. Ended up leading him out after a couple attempts.”

“Did they say where they were going?”

“What? Of course not. A man’s business is his own in these parts.” Charles thanked him, then repeated a similar conversation with the innkeeper. When the doctor met Charles outside the inn later, medical supplies slung over the side of the mule, the man shoved a small wad of bills into his chest, embarrassed look on his face.

“Here, it’s not much, but I’m not about to heal you for you to starve to death in town,” Bernard said.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s nothing. I make some money as a traveling doctor sometimes. Not that they know, the blind fools.” Charles couldn’t help the snort. This man could clearly get by with his career if his work on Charles’s wounds was any indication. “Honestly it’s not like any of us can hunt.”

“I could teach you some time, if I ever head back this way.” That earned him a pat on the shoulder and a non-committal grunt. Then with a final wave the doctor headed back to the mule and set off for the woods. Charles was left alone in the mud, and it was like a fading dream, the white turtle robes hanging off him the only proof any of the last weeks had even been real. He could see the cliff from here. He turned away from it and headed back into the heart of town, settling on the train station with the brittle hope that Arthur had left him a letter. But the employee their just shook his head at Charles’s description of Arthur.

“See lots of white men with beards mister, may have seen him but you gotta be more specific.” But even with the long list of clothing Arthur may have worn the employee just shrugged and shook his head.

-

Charles almost missed it really, the poster. Had already pushed through the double doors in defeat by the time it clicked. His heart beat quickly as he hurried back in to tear down the poster. There was a little drawing of a deer in an all too familiar hand, the few lines of neat text scrawled beneath it offering a much too small sum in exchange for five deer pelts.

“The man who put this poster up. Who was he?”

“Oh, why didn’t you just say it was that fool. That would be Marvin Guiles.”

“Yes, right! I need a letter sent to him.”

“Alrighty, I can work with that. Could take a little while to reach him though, he just changed his mailing address a few days back.” Charles didn’t let that stop him, he couldn’t after coming this far.

_Marvin,_

_I don’t know if this will ever reach you, but I hope against all odds it does. I’m not much of a writer so I’ll keep this short. I’m sorry, more than I’ve ever been. I’ll be in Tacksville, staying in that same inn if you’d be willing to hear me out. Hope to hear from you soon._

_-C_

Charles installed himself in the inn later that evening and held Arthur’s picture to him, fingers brushing over the pencil strokes that formed the prancing deer- somehow bringing the paper to life. He read through it again and flipped the page, absentmindedly.

_Charles, check the pigsty._

He stared at the line for a few seconds in shock. Then he was up, rushing down into the night sky though foggy streets. He skidded to a halt outside the only pigsty he knew, muddy alleyway calm and non-assuming. He let out a laugh, couldn’t Arthur have chosen a less disgusting location? Somewhere less prone to hungry hogs destroying evidence. But then again, Arthur was Arthur. Luckily, the note wasn’t hard to find, tucked in behind the trough somewhere even the hungriest of pigs couldn’t get. It was a map, roughly drawn but descriptive. He found two more of the little hunting posters around town as he looked for a good horse to steal. He could cry in relief, Arthur really did want to find him too. Or he _had_ , at some point.

He set off that same night on the stolen horse, tiredness beaten down by excitement. The little clearing so clearly matching his map was empty, bushes beaten down and kicked over campfires hastily left behind, but their path was all too obvious to his practiced eye, the wagon wheel tracks beaten into the earth. He followed the tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially had a larger plot written out with the Chalonians but cut it due to my own impatience for Charles to move forward in his search for Arthur!
> 
> I didn't realize how creepy the group was till I did more research online.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last real chapter of this act, with one short epilogue to follow soon!

From his place lurking in the trees Charles could hear laughter and music. Could see the tents illuminated by a scattering of bonfires. A small herd of horses relaxed on the camp’s outskirts, grazing or sleeping in the tall grass. It looked cozy, and for a moment Charles felt wistful- this had almost been his home, living with Arthur and his adoptive family in the woods. But for all the peacefulness of this picture, there was nothing but death for Charles here- he’d need to find Arthur quietly. 

There was a bearded man on look-out on the opposite edge of the camp, but he looked either drunk or bored to the point of stupor- he wouldn’t be a problem. And if there was anyone else on guard duty, they were much better at their job and had evaded Charles’s eyes altogether. He scanned the camp, identifying Susan and perhaps Uncle if he could trust his memory of Arthur’s sketches, but no Arthur. Maybe he was in one of the various tents or wagons, or maybe out of camp altogether. With a sigh, he elected to wait in his protected alcove instead of risking entering the perimeter further. At least the night was mild and dry and his own stolen horse seemed calm enough, especially after a bribery of sugar he’d snatched from the inn’s lobby. 

Charles waited a couple hours, eyes wavering from the group around the campfire to the clear skies above mindlessly until the gang members finally began to tire, dispersing one by one to their pallets. Van der Linde had made a quick appearance at one point, materializing by the fire with a broad smile that almost sent Charles stalking into camp right then. But the man disappeared just as quickly, leaving Charles shocked at his own anger- at the impulse to throw everything away just for a few moments of revenge. The bearded man also submitted to sleep completely at some point, slumped over on his ass, back to the tree, shotgun loose in his arms. 

Charles had made it halfway to camp from his little hiding place, when Arthur finally stumbled into view, emerging from a tent with a yawn. Charles froze mid-step as he felt an all too different pang of emotion, anger evaporating altogether, thoughts of van der Linde simply fading into nothing. Background noise. Arthur looked smaller somehow, dressed in just a union suit and some ratty jeans, arms wrapped around himself to stave off the autumn chill. He didn’t know how welcome he’d be, it’d been weeks since they’d seen each other, and he could only imagine the sort of story Dutch might have spun. Or perhaps Arthur’s feelings had simply faded away in the weeks apart- when he finally had a chance to reflect on all Charles’s mistakes and unintentional insults. On the muddy violence that triggered their whole camaraderie. But he couldn’t accept that final farewell, needed to at least be turned away by a clear eyed, upright Arthur. Charles made his move, feet seemingly moving on their own. 

Arthur startled badly when he stepped out from the foliage, staggering backwards, hand flying uselessly to his waist. His mouth fell open and for a second Charles’s couldn’t tell if it was relief or fear on his face, but then Arthur flung himself forward into him roughly. Charles gasped a little at the impact, his leg was still delicate, his ribs still sore from the fall. Arthur didn’t let him go though, just hugged him tightly and Charles felt himself returning the hug, ignoring every scream of pain from his sore body in favor of the tight embrace. Neither said anything for the longest time.

“You owe me,” Arthur finally whispered, arms still locked around his back almost violently. 

“What?”

“You owe me a dollar,” Arthur didn’t release him. 

“Okay.” Charles expected Arthur to jump into a barrage of questions, to demand why he’d left him, why he’d hurt him, but he didn’t. Just asked one quiet question of him.

“Can I go with you?” Arthur asked, voice muffled from the shoulder he was currently glued to. 

Charles brows shot up, “you want to?” He’d expected Arthur to welcome him into camp to talk maybe, but not to agree to his thin proposal before he’d even managed to make his case. Charles had no plans or prospects, no security he could offer and Arthur surely knew that. But Arthur just pulled back and gave him an incredulous glance.

“Course I do, you idiot. Got your horse by the way- it weren’t nice of you to leave ‘er like that.” Charles couldn’t help the nervous chuckle as he struggled to keep himself upright under Arthur’s considerable weight all but hanging off him. But he must have staggered or made some sort of pained noise, Arthur pulled back immediately, scolding giving way to concern. “Hey, are you okay?” 

Charles didn’t know how to answer Arthur with his searching gaze and steadying arms that had now found their way to his own shoulders- he suddenly felt weak and tired and somehow ready to break down again. He didn’t want Arthur to worry about him, didn’t even quite understand the sudden exhaustion that had hit him so intensely. But Arthur gave him time, palms tracing calming circles on his arms. “Not really, but I will be in a bit.” He chanced a glance up to Arthur and continued, “I missed you.” 

“Shit, I missed you too Charles- you would not believe the nonsense I’ve been dealin’ with… Wait here, I’ll just need to grab my things.” With a final squeeze to his shoulder, Arthur wheeled around to head back into camp, but Charles grabbed his hand.

“Wait. Best go quietly, I don’t know how van der Linde would feel about you slipping out like this.”

Arthur’s eye’s narrowed at that- irate. But after a moment of fear- his own emotions still volatile and raw- Charles realized the anger wasn’t for him. “I think I do know actually. He said something to you, didn’t he? That’s why you…” Arthur trailed off. He looked wild now, the question demanded an answer. 

“Well, I’m sure he thought he was looking out for you but-”

Arthur was in his space again now, eyes desperate, “Charles, please. What’d he say?” 

Charles rocked from foot to foot a couple times, pain lacing through his leg as he warred with the truth. But Arthur deserved it, after everything. “A few things. He thought I drugged you so he wasn’t so happy with me. Then he pushed me off a cliff.” He said it quickly, in a low voice, vainly hoping Arthur wouldn’t hear him.

“What?” Arthur yelled out loud and Charles just managed to get a hand over his mouth in time to stop him from continuing at such a volume. 

“Shhh, don’t want them to hear us. Can we just go? Don’t think he’d be too welcoming if he spots me here.”

Arthur was clearly still warring with his emotions, caught in his anger much like Charles had earlier- the same tenseness in his stance. It felt like minutes passed before he moved again, finally shrugging Charles’s hand off his mouth. “Okay Charles, I still need my stuff though.” Charles could only watch as Arthur fled back to camp. His heart was beating insanely fast, worried what Arthur might do, he was taking a long time, hidden behind the wagon. Charles knew van der Linde meant a lot to Arthur from their conversations and didn’t want to be the catalyst of a violent rift between the two men. Just wanted to grab Arthur and run. To never think about that man and his struggle under the icy water again. 

After a few more agonizing minutes, Arthur reappeared, two horses trailing behind him, bags strapped to them. A small furry face popped out of one, an excited whine bleeding through the slits of a crude muzzle. Arthur was clutching a third bag to himself, tightly like someone meant to snatch it. “Okay,” the whisper was almost silent, “we need to leave, now.” Charles couldn’t agree more. “You want to take both your horses?” Charles shook his head and moved to move his meager belongings from the dappled old mare he’d grabbed in town to his sturdier old horse, who greeted him with a pleased toss of her head and a concerningly loud snort. 

They mounted up as quietly as possible and soon Charles found himself following Arthur at a hard gallop, giddy energy building as they navigated the forest path wildly. Their horses might not be built for speed, but their energy seemed to bleed over, the beasts eager to rush on through the night. Arthur didn’t speak for a while, he looked tense, checking behind them obsessively. It was fully light when Charles even dared ask Arthur about breaking for the horses. 

“Think we should rest soon?” 

Arthur considered him. “No. Let’s keep going.”

“You think he’s coming after us then?”

“I know he is. Probably already on our tail.” Charles didn’t argue, he’d seen Dutch’s determination when he’d pounced on him, rope in hand. He couldn’t help feeling some petty satisfaction at Arthur’s eagerness to leave it all behind with him. They finally settled into a steadier pace as the forest path turned upwards, evergreen trees beginning to dot their ascent, animal activity becoming more and more rare. At one point they left the main path altogether to file through the trees and hopefully throw their trail. Arthur only asked him about the cliff once more, careful with his tone- as if could tell just what type of thoughts were swirling inside Charles’s head. Charles glossed over the time in the water and the woods, as detached as possible, but he told Arthur all he cared to know about his time with the Chelonians. It turned out that was a lot. 

“So how do they finally reach Chelonia? Burn themselves to death? Cannibalism? Human sacrifice?”

“I didn’t ask the details.”

“Really? I’d be dying to know- I’m half tempted to turn around right now and give them a visit. Sounds like a real nice place to live, with all them weird rituals and such. You never thought to stay?” Charles snorted. 

“Of course not. You really think I’d fit in there?”

“Well no, but you could’ve pretended longer to learn their secrets. But I ‘spose I’m glad you found me before I completely went crazy in that camp. It was a near thing.”

“I still have my turtle robe, if you want to see.” And for some reason, Arthur did, so he pulled the thing out of his saddle bag. To be fair, it had been more comfortable than the cheap clothes he'd bought in Tacksville with the money from Dr. Bernard, but he still refused to put the thing on again for Arthur’s amusement. He'd had enough turtles for a lifetime. That first day went by quickly as they pushed the horses on and fell into easy conversation, as if no time had passed since their last meeting. As if nothing was wrong. Arthur didn’t really elaborate on why his time in camp with van der Linde was hell, but Charles left it alone- trusting Arthur to talk if he needed to. That night, Charles’s horse finally all but gave up. 

“Arthur! We need to stop, we’ll kill the poor things at this rate.” Charles could see Arthur chewing on his lip as the horses struggled forward. They’d seen no sign of van der Linde or any law whatsoever, but Arthur seemed to tense up whenever they dropped below a canter. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s find somewhere protected.” A couple more miles into the thick trees finally led them to a prime spot, invisible from the small trail they stumbled across hours before. The pine trees protected them from all sides and the needles formed a soft cushion beneath them- it was as good of a spot as they’d find up here. Charles sighed and stretched his sore muscles, tending to his horse before busying himself unpacking his modest cookware, he hadn’t eaten a meal since the day before. Arthur still looked nervous but offered a crooked grin, “that was excitin’. You gotta be quiet girl, can you do that for me?” Copper replied with a loud bark of affirmation. Arthur just groaned, “course not,” and collapsed back onto the ground. 

Arthur almost looked embarrassed as he finally turned to Charles from his place sprawled out on the pine needles. “Pretty impressive followin' the gang so far into the woods. We’ve been movin’ a lot on account of the law, and well…now that I think about it, you. I know I was testing Dutch’s patience, runnin’ around town lookin’ for you and I weren’t completely sure where we ended up myself.”

“Tracking’s a specialty of mine, though I'd never have found that first camp without the maps you left. The signs were real clear from there- wagon trails, old campfires. Wasn’t so hard once I could walk.” 

“Dutch wouldn’t like that answer one bit,” Arthur said with a dark chuckle, “always thinks we’re the slickest outlaws to ever walk the earth, kept saying we’d lose any law followin’ us by cuttin’ through that river- but you seemed to do just fine. Hell, pretty much thinks he the smartest man to ever live in the history of mankind. Galileo, goddam George Washington, whoever invented electricity? No, it’s Dutch van der Linde!” Arthur broke off from his rambling, “I’m sorry you know, for all of that business. Running away like that. Dutch.”

“Don’t be- it wasn’t your fault, what he did.” They didn’t risk a fire but Arthur had offered up his small lantern, the light glow of the flame growing brighter as the day’s last rays struggled to reach them through the thick tree line. This was what Charles had both feared and craved all day, every innocent story and joke pressing up uncomfortably against this moment. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I panicked, I was worried you’d catch onto my feelings and leave and said something I didn’t mean at all. Thought that maybe if I hid behind all that it’d be better. But clearly I was wrong.” It wasn’t exactly what he’d planned out, awkward and concise and wholly inadequate. Arthur was staring at him, playing with the needles nervously and Charles struggled to hold his gaze and keep his voice steady. “Sorry but I think I really love you. That’s what I wanted to say to you that morning.”

Charles felt a little off put by how genuinely surprised Arthur looked, but the surprise quickly dissipated and he recovered himself, a small smile creeping up his face in its place. He crawled closer, gently grabbed Charles’s chin and kissed him. It was nothing like the other times, lips forceful but controlled on his own, hands steady on his jaw. Charles felt himself dragging Arthur close till the man was virtually in his lap, needles gathered up around their legs. Finally, Arthur pulled away smiling.

“Should’ve- I’d have said the same right back, you know? I love you too,” Arthur said, with an awkward little laugh, but no malice. “Unless you’re just sayin’ all that cause I’m rich.” He didn’t give Charles a chance to respond, just kissed him again, careful to position himself away from Charles ankle. They finally broke apart to breathe and Charles considered him, bearded face flushed and happy. 

“What?” They were both rugged from the road, cloths torn, covered in a considerable layer of sap and sweat- a perfect image of abject poverty. Arthur grabbed one his bags and pulled it towards them. He drew the string open slowly, revealing a huge conglomerate of bills, coins, jewelry. “Grabbed this from Dutch’s chest on the way out.”

Charles could only stare back at his smug face in utter bafflement. He’d never even seen so much money. “You are… unbelievable.” Arthur seemed to take it as a compliment, so Charles tackled him into the leaf litter in retaliation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! That's it for act one, more to follow. Dutch is no doubt stewing in anger and Arthur and Charles still need to decide on their future plans!


	11. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided to turn my epilogue into an interlude and to start writing more chapters right away! Hoping to post approximately once a week for act 2.

_Sep 25 1885_   
_Me and Charles have been on the road for a week now, sometimes I think I see Dutch out of the corner of my eye. It’s never him of course, it’s always just a stray branch or an innocent traveler on the road but the feeling won’t leave me. I should never have taken the money at all, should of just gone with Charles and left it at that. I was just so angry after learning about what Dutch did, I wanted to hit him where it hurt most. Me leaving him weren’t enough, money was always his favorite._

_-_

  
_Oct 01 1885_   
_Today we saw a moose. I wanted to kill it (I’ve never eaten one before) but Charles stopped me, told me it was too dangerous. As if our whole life ain’t dangerous! Surely a moose wouldn’t finish the job that so many other men tried a failed. He looked so pitiful as if I’d already died though, so I didn’t try and follow the hulking thing. For dinner we just ate some canned food again but he seemed happy about it so I suppose it’s alright. Next time I’m hunting the damn moose though._

  
_-_

  
_Oct 05 1885_   
_I feel extremely selfish, but I asked Charles if we could try and find Hosea and John. I don’t even know where they headed off to so it’s no doubt a fruitless task, but I just was overcome with something odd- I want to introduce Charles to them both. Hosea may judge me for it, may send us away, but I’m beginning to think he won’t. Thinking maybe he’ll be proud of me for leaving the killing and whoring behind. Charles agreed immediately though, crazy to think someone who went through so much pain after meeting my first father wants to meet the second. He still hasn’t told me much about his parents, but I get the impression they were kind people- not too surprising seeing how he turned out. Anyway, I already know John will love him, after he gets over his suspicion. And Copper. Kid’ll love her more than any of us._

  
_-_

  
_Oct 10 1885_   
_Today I asked Charles to cut my hair and he did a terrible job. Weren't entirely his fault, I convinced him to do it in the first place but shit, I have a gaping hole on the back of my head. I hope he never reads this but that’s what happened. I guess I don’t mind too much, he seemed properly guilty without me saying a word. I’d return the favor but that would be a crime to ruin such perfect hair. Part of me is smug, finally something he’s bad at!_

  
_-_

  
_Oct 14 1885_   
_I had another dream about Mary. We took John to the fair and bought a bunch of apples. Made a bunch of pies and sold them to folks in town. He seemed to like her- called her ‘Ma’ and all that. It almost felt real though, none of the weird nonsensical happenings my dreams often have. It was nice I suppose, but I wasn’t sad this time when I woke up from it. To think I’m happier awake than asleep these days. I keep expecting things to crack, but they haven’t. I miss John though, I hope we can find them- even though I know the chances are slim._

  
_-_

  
_Oct 17 1885_   
_Shot a man today after he tried to rob us. He kicked Copper in the side too. Haven’t killed anyone for weeks. Feels oddly dirty now but I don’t regret it. He threatened my new ‘family.’_

_-_

  
_Oct 18 1885_   
_It’s been two months since I left Dutch and the gang and we still have too much money to know what to do with. Hard to buy much when everything you own needs to fit on your horse. We’ve been able to partake in cooked meals though, on the odd chance we stop by a town. We don’t much, better to be out of the public’s eye but sometimes we need to restock. I accidently bought too many pastries today. I meant to just buy 1 but the gal thought I meant 1 dozen and I didn’t have it in me to disappoint a child like that. Hell, maybe she was playing me, but Charles seemed happy enough with the purchase. He’s already eaten four of them. Hopefully he keeps up at the same pace, I don't even like that type of pastry._

  
_-_

  
_Oct 20 1885_   
_Turns out me and Charles both almost got married to women, funny how these things are. Sounds like his own situation was worse than mine though, I feel bad for sulking about Mary when his (not quite) fiancé was killed for nothing. She sounded nicer than me, would have made a good pair with Charles. He ain’t like me, he feels for women in the way I never could, could make a life with one and not have to hide if it suited him. Maybe he should. I shouldn’t be fixated on it, it’s my own weakness and he doesn’t need to be sucked down by it. I’m just a jealous bastard, I guess. Not a good man._

_I drank so much I could hardly walk last night while Charles was hunting. First time messed up in months. I was just so fed up with the violence of his story and my own petty thoughts. He seemed disappointed by my drinking but didn’t say anything. It’s morning now, and I still feel sick._

  
_-_

  
_Oct 26 1885_   
_I haven’t written anything in almost a week! I’m feeling better though, sorted myself out somehow. We’ve decided to head for the mountains, Hosea always mentioned loving that country. Don’t know if we’ll find them of course, but we’re thinking maybe my crimes haven’t reached that land yet. Maybe it’s our best chance of a fresh start._

  
_-_

  
_Oct 29 1885_   
_Charles made me a ring. Don’t get me wrong, it ain’t mean all that. But still, I like it. He also bought Copper little seal-skin snow booties for when we cross the mountains next month. We both think they’re silly but Charles is a worrier and bought all kinds of stuff to make sure none of us freeze to death up there. Poor horses, having to lug all of it! I think Charles would make a good husband in another life. Told him as much and he seemed happy enough with that diagnosis. I panicked a bit but I think he means to me, even though that makes no sense and could never happen. He’s a fool. But I’m glad._

  
_-_

  
_Nov 07 1885_   
_Got real sick, everyone was saying I had Tuberculosis and was dying, even that backwoods doctor. Turns out I had a nasty case of pneumonia, but I survived. Charles didn’t give up on me (of course), even when we thought it was TB and I pretty much stopped trying, thinking I’d be withering to death. Told Charles he could leave if he wanted. That was the wrong thing to say! Seems obvious now, but at the time I just wanted to be alone and not drag him down with caring for a dead man when he deserves so much more. He didn’t say much to me after that, just sat on some rock all night, staring into the fire. Think I really hurt him saying those things. Changed my thinking afterwards though, tried to make the most of everything and keep fighting- I’d feel pretty rotten if Charles ever said any of that same shit to me. I’m feeling better now, cough is mostly gone but I’m still weak, got a second chance to do better. Hopefully we can travel again soon. I’ll stop rambling and sleep now, Charles is trying to be subtle, but he keeps looking over here with a worried expression. It’s kind of annoying but shit, I love him._

  
_-_

  
_Nov 09 1885_   
_We’re setting off today! Copper is going even more stir crazy than me, the poor girl._

_The first day on the road went well. We’ve stopped for the night after traveling all day, but I think both of us have extra energy after being cooped up so long. Don’t think that’s such a bad thing though… we’ll think of something to do._

  
_-_

  
_Sorry Arthur, I didn’t read anything. I swear._   
_1\. Zest of citron (if available)_   
_2\. Slivered nuts_   
_3\. 1 pound sugar_   
_4\. 1 pound flour_   
_5\. Dash salt_   
_6\. Dash baking soda_   
_7\. Dash cream of tartar (?)_   
_8\. Glass of Brandy_   
_9\. Quarter of seeded raisins_   
_10\. Quarter currants_   
_11\. 2 eggs_

_Pound Cake with Fruit:_   
_Beat sugar and butter till creamy and eggs till frothy then mix. Add flour, Brandy, nuts/zest. Squeeze in extra citron juice if too thick. Cook for about 2 hours for large cake, less for smaller bundts (err on the side of caution and check often)._   
_Can’t think of a chance to use a real oven but the trapper was intent on spreading his wife’s recipe to all his customers. Nice man. He gave me a piece she made him last week. A bit stale, but good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't perfect for them but they're together and trying their best! No idea if that recipe is any good, it's just something ancient I found that seemed to fit the time period. Also got the "TB" out of the way, because I don't need that in my life.


	12. Chapter 12

Copper had grown a staggering amount in the almost two months they’d been in the hills, the modest sized dog transforming into a tall, bushy creature who’d eat more meat than either of them if given the chance. Luckily, the woods were filled with an abundance of prey, the mild weather making the deer almost complacent before their bows. It was a good season for travel, the trees finally reddening and leaving a blanket of radiant litter as the autumn passed by, the deep chill of winter still weeks off. They’d been picking their way through the foothills bordering the Grizzlies over the last few days and still the beauty of it all took Charles’s breath away- trees so unlike the sturdy green pines dotting the distant towering peaks. A hefty pile of pelts was cinched up and tied to his large horse, but if they kept this pace up, they may not even need them. But even the possibility of getting stranded in the snow sent a nervous current through him, pushed him to hurry their little party on.

“Don’t worry Copper, I’ll eat Charles first if we run out of food up there! Your pretty little self is safe, girl.” Arthur exclaimed jovially from behind him, unprompted.

“What?” Arthur only looked a little embarrassed when Charles turned a scrutinizing look backwards.

“Oh nothin’, Copper just got into the venison stash again earlier. Threatened to eat her to make up for it, but now she’s givin’ me the cold shoulder.”

Charles snorted, not even shocked by Arthur’s odd humor anymore. “Hmm. Maybe I should do the same, seeing as you’ve vowed to take me down instead.”

“Doubt you’d mind too much…” Charles gave him an unimpressed look at the little wink, but it was true really, there was very little to mind. The two of them fit together easily, the quick friendship they’d fallen into strengthened to something more intense. It was sometimes like none of the nasty business with van der Linde ever happened. But even so, they couldn’t fully prevent the days Charles woke in a panic convinced Arthur was gone, or those when Arthur would gaze off at nothing. No doubt thinking of the life and people he’d left behind.

But for all their struggles with what happened, times had been good. The money made their travels easier and for all their fears of Dutch catching their trail, they’d neither seen nor heard word of the man. They’d mostly avoided towns, excepting a few small settlements when their supplies dwindled to concerning levels, but Arthur seemed happier for it- at least until his sickness took hold. It had been a brief episode of pneumonia, but even now Charles couldn’t help honing onto his breathing to try and catch any resurgence. He’d had been hesitant to head into the cold mountains so soon after the sickness passed, but they’d been on the road for a week now with no I’ll effects and were both desperate to get to new country. Somewhere they wouldn’t need to fear Arthur being recognized every time they took a step into town.

-

“You want to stop soon?” Arthur asked from behind him. Admittedly, they had been on the trail all day, except for breaking down near the stream, excited to find running water after a couple days of relying solely on their dwindling waterskins for both them and the animals.

“Yeah, how about when we hit the base of those mountains?” Arthur looked between Charles and the mountain pointedly.

“That ain’t near.” But he didn’t seem very put out from his lazy posture atop his horse Ruby when Charles turned to him. “I should really learn to rephrase my requests.”

“Don’t look too far if we hurry a bit. Think Copper’s thinking the same.” Sure enough, she was near vibrating with energy at the mere mention of her name. She was built for herding and long days on the road both it seemed.

“Not exactly racing horses, these.” Arthur considered him a moment from under the brim of his hat. “But I reckon’ I could be convinced, with the proper incentive.” Charles smiled.

“I’ll cook dinner tonight.”

“Not quite what I was thinkin’, but I’ll take it.” And with that Arthur spurred his horse on, cutting in front of him and whipping Copper into an even bigger frenzy. Charles lost a few seconds in the ensuing struggle to spur on his own unenthusiastic horse on- eyes keeping a careful watch on Copper, near invisible in the sea of leaves. The horse finally caught on though, and lurched forward in a confused gallop. Arthur had a head start but he was wasting time twisting to laugh at Charles’s struggles. He paced himself, spotting the deer trail with a practiced eye, hopeful it continued straight to the cliffs. And that Arthur wouldn’t notice it. And sure enough, he completely missed the cut off ahead of them, pushing on down the main path with an intensity unwarranted by their little bet.

“Go with Arthur,” Charles commanded as he cut off the main path, dodging through the first cluster of mountain pines. Copper skidded to a panting halt, confused at Charles’s sudden veering turn to the left. A few barks followed him up the rocky trail, but the command held true and he heard her take off up the main path. “Let’s beat him then,” Charles said to the horse, Arthur’s habit of talking to animals had rubbed off on him somewhere along the way.

The first time Arthur had caught him the man had laughed at him. “Did you just compliment that cat’s boots?” He had; the cat’s little black furred feet did contrast her pelt nicely. Arthur crouched down next to him to similarly inspect the cat.

“You want to come with us girl? Seems like Charles here like’s you- he don’t usually give compliments as high as that. Hell, don’t think he ever mentioned my boots before. But I ‘spose yours are-”

“What you boys doing?” the voice was suspicious. A shopkeeper come out to determine the cause of two armed men crouching down next to his shop no doubt. The cat used the opportunity to race off under the building.

“Ah, we were just… talkin’.”

The man just glared at the two of them from his vantage point on the stairs. He brandished his broom like a weapon, bristles pointed towards them. “Well you’d best talk elsewhere. Don’t wanna have to bring you up to the sheriff.”

Arthur got up from his place on the ground with an indignant grunt. “For what?” Charles just rose with a sigh of his own and steered Arthur off, out of sight of the angry shopkeeper.

“Guess we ain’t gettin’ a cat today then.” Arthur finally said to Charles as they headed off down the street. Charles had vowed to stop befriending animals like that lest they end up with a whole zoo and the whole world thinking they were crazy, but here he was again- talking up his horse. But it seemed a good encouragement as anything, the horse pushing onwards steadily.

As they tore through the narrow trail, he couldn’t avoid a couple glazing scratches for his troubles, but the lead he gained made up for them as he reentered the main trail a large stretch in front of Arthur, hooves kicking up a little cloud of dust. He heard cursing and a bark. From here out there was little either rider could do to change the stakes, both sturdy horses had decided this race wasn’t worth their time. The low speed race ended as they reached the first cliff face, Charles ensuring to reach out and physically tap the stone to prevent any disputes.

“We didn’t agree on what we gotta cook for dinner though,” Arthur said from a few feet back, arms crossed over his chest. “I could cook you some rotten moss if I wanted to.” But the little frown and finger tracing the scrapes from his detour him betrayed Arthur’s regard, even in his defeat.

Luckily Arthur didn’t make them moss- if anything he seemed to put even more effort into the food than his normal mindless frying. By the time Charles had set up their new tent along the rock face Arthur was only halfway done, cutting a large selection of herbs and giving the meat time to marinate in its juices.

“Hope it’s alright then- not much of a cook,” he finally said as he offered up his payment. And while he usually didn’t put much effort into his meals, the meat really was good- the best he’d had in ages. By the time be finished the generous cut of venison he was tired enough to fall asleep right there. At some point Arthur had scooted up against him, using his arm as a backrest and all but cutting off all functionality of the limb. The first icy flakes took him by surprise, the day’s heavy ride and hot food had done the job the stave off any cold the mild day had offered. But he supposed they’d gained a lot in terms of elevation, a little snow wasn’t anything to worry about.

“Arthur,” he nudged him a little.

“Mm.”

“Let’s go into the tent.”

Arthur didn’t open his eyes. “I thought the wager was for dinner. And now you want me in your bed?” But the words were teasing, no real bite to them at all.

“More like I don’t want to freeze out here.” Charles replied, gently prying Arthur off so he could stand and stretch, finally getting some blood flow to his arm. “And I much rather take you to bed than sit out here, to be honest.” That seemed to work at least, Arthur recovered from his feigned loss of mobility real fast, turning an intent gaze on Charles.

“Me too.”

-

Sometimes Arthur was a force of nature, prone to pushing Charles down and putting all his talents to use until Charles was a gasping mess. He had a way of it, a confidence Charles could never hope to imitate when he got like that, even when he was stretched around him, Arthur seemed in charge and Charles could only follow his lead eagerly. The first time he’d taken Arthur, nestled between the older man’s thighs Arthur had grabbed his own hand and gently guided him, showing him how to touch him and prepare him.

“This is nice, you know- takin’ our time. I always tried to do this as fast as possible…” Arthur had panted against his throat, the rest was unspoken, they didn’t really talk about Arthur’s past dealings much. So Charles tried to do just that, take his time even as he felt himself become impossibly aroused by the sight. He seemed to be doing okay, if the pleased movements were anything to go by. They’d hardly started but Arthur already looked properly debauched, splayed out around him like this, pulling him impossibly closer. “I ain’t too much, am I darlin’?”

Charles froze at the name. “No, course not.” And how he ever could be, Charles didn’t know. Arthur’s answering smile was sweet, as was the man’s insistence to kiss him silly even as he grabbed his hand and urged him to touch him harder.

He’d latched his legs around his back and moaned out his name as Charles pushed in, Arthur’s answering movements and pleading moans dictating the pace. Charles had been unable to do anything but follow his lead, pushing into him roughly. Apparently he’d done something right, Arthur suddenly gasped with a new intensity, and Charles began to feel like he was the one getting taken when Arthur rolled them over to continue the onslaught of affection, holding him against the headboard to plant kisses into the crook of his neck.

Later that night Charles had concluded he wouldn’t mind, looking down on Arthur’s content sleeping face beside him. Maybe he’d even ask Arthur one of these days- somehow he had a hard time envisioning Arthur minding terribly.

-

But then there were other nights like this, when Arthur was a soft heap of gentle smiles and lazy kisses when the man would just blink up at him and take anything offered with quiet affirmations. Charles didn’t know which side he liked more. Figured he’d adore Arthur any which way though, couldn’t help simply adoring the man. Luckily the soil was dry here and the little tent was cozy enough, lantern illuminating the darkness.

“How do you want me?” Charles asked, not surprised when Arthur made an undecided noise while shrugging off his clothes. It was somewhat of a struggle, moving freely in such a small space, but they had some practice now, learning to maneuver around each other without too much elbowing over their travels together. Perhaps they should buy a bigger tent, but then they wouldn’t have an excuse to push their pallets so close together. But he supposed they didn’t really need any more excuses at this point, there was no embarrassment as he joined Arthur on the little pile of bedrolls.

“Don’t care, I ain’t picky…” Arthur trailed off, trying to suppress the imminent yawn- they really should be sleeping, with the moon as high as it was. But he very much didn’t want to now, hurrying to find the little jar of oil to ease into Arthur, finally comfortable enough to do this without worrying he was hurting him. He sure didn’t seem hurt now at least, as he urged Charles on.

After just a couple minutes, Arthur tapped on his arm. “I’m ready Charles.”

“You sure?” Arthur’s answering glare was more desperation than annoyance, but Charles took pity on him, dragging Arthur a few inches closer to him by his hips before finally pushing in.

“Fuck, you’re too strong you know?” Arthur gasped out quietly as he acclimated to the feeling of Charles inside him even as he forced himself to go slowly. Arthur was no weakling either, might even give Charles a run for his money if they were to come to heads again. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad time, wrestling Arthur to the ground and fucking him like that, arms pinned behind his back as he egged Charles on… because of course he would. Or maybe Arthur would come out on top. That wouldn’t be so bad either.

“You distracted?” Arthur asked, only half able to keep up the little glare that looked more like a pout with the man sprawled out like he was. He always did pick up these things. Charles couldn’t help grinning at the sight, pushing in a bit harder in hopes of appeasing him.

“Just thinking about fucking you.” Arthur scoffed, but it came out more a moan at Charles’s continued his mission with renewed effort, hiking a leg over his shoulder.

“That’s concerning, givin’ what you’re up to now.” Did Arthur sound a little bit nervous? “I could…”

“No. you’re perfect like this. You’re always perfect.” Maybe he’d regret those words when Arthur decided he wanted to pull some foolish ploy, but right now Charles couldn’t help pouring the affection onto him, “just have an idea for next time is all.”

“Ah, okay…” Arthur looked more intrigued than hesitant now. “Tell me.” The whole thing seemed ridiculous to Charles now, but Arthur’s gaze was intent. So he stumbled to explain, hoping Arthur would be distracted to the point of incoherency as he reached between them with a newfound purpose. If it came out a bit disjointed, what could he say- he was preoccupied, stroking Arthur in time with his own movement. Charles could tell Arthur was close already, lip bitten and brow tense in an all too familiar manner. But even though it, Arthur nodded along to his embarrassed confession- maybe he even looked into it.

“Oh… shit. I’m a pretty good wrestler ya know?” Arthur panted out, surely not the picture of accomplished fighter as he gently looped his arms around Charles neck urge him closer. “Might not end so well for you. Might end up on your hands and knees for me,” he spoke too softly to hold any sort of demand, the hint of a question tinging the words. The words sent a jolt through Charles anyway, Arthur suggesting such a thing while spread beneath him so docilely.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Charles said breathlessly. Arthur blinked up at him searchingly, smile spreading across his flushed face at whatever he found there. Such calculating thoughts were wiped from his face completely though, when Charles finally gripped him tighter and pushed in at a different angle, searching for that place that made Arthur come apart completely. He found it easily enough, if his entirely obscene gasps were anything to go by.

“Charles…” he gasped out. A plea he couldn’t refuse.

“More?” he asked, not sure how much longer he could hold back his own pleasure. Arthur just nodded against him, words of no more use and Charles happily gave him what he wanted, renewing his grasp on his hips to hold him steady through it. And when Charles kissed him deeply, Arthur couldn’t hold on any longer, releasing one last desperate groan into his mouth before tightening around him and pushing him over the edge right behind him.

If the chill crept in through the little gaps in the tent wall, Charles couldn’t feel it’s bite at all with Arthur wrapped around him on their thick pallet pile. He thought the man was asleep already. Thought perhaps he was mumbling in his sleep at first, but Arthur finally removed his face from the crook of his neck to level him with a look. “I really love you. You know that right?” he asked. For all the affection the man had poured over him, all the gifts and lingering kisses, such unguarded words were still rare. Charles found himself at a loss, unbalanced from how easily things had slid from silly fantasies to this tenderness, his time with Arthur still sometimes felt like a dream.

“I love you too,” he replied. Arthur made an approving little grunt and tucked himself back against him. It wasn’t cold at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not entirely used to writing scenes like this, time to hide under a rock. 
> 
> Alternate ending to this chapter
> 
> Arthur: I love you  
> Charles (in total agreement on the sentiment): Thanks
> 
> Just kidding, he more than learned his lesson!


	13. Chapter 13

The next couple days were slower, the horses rejoicing on the leisurely climb even as Copper had a fit- she was made for herding and running not the plodding pace they fell into. Apparently playing fetch while atop a horse wasn’t impossible though, Arthur practically hanging off his horse to accept the stick from Copper’s outstretched snout. It had been a quiet day, both men content with only occasional conversation. They’d planned on making it over the mountains in a week, an easy task in such mild temperatures, but any later and heavier snows would slow them down, perhaps to a halt. They’d packed a few extra deer pelts onto the rear of his horse and Charles had dried way too much meat just in case.

They crested the third real peak around noon of the second day, horses not even breaking a sweat despite the steep slope and sudden change in elevation. The valley before them was sprawling, base almost completely covered in sparking water. Even from the distance Charles could see an abundance of wildlife, from water birds to beavers. There was even an elk stopping for a drink. But by descending into the basin, they’d be setting the horses up for another trek upwards hours later.

“A shame we can’t go down there to camp,” Arthur said, mirroring his own thoughts.

“We could, it would just take another day.” Charles almost hoped Arthur would make the call and lead them down the slope but after a few moments of indecision he shook his head.

“Nah, better keep going.” So they began the journey around the ridge, mindful of the pebble covered slope under their horses’ hooves. Arthur pulled out his map and made his way over to Charles when the first sign of trouble arose in the form of a growl from Copper.

“Freeze!” the voice was startlingly loud, and close. Charles whipped his head to the left but still couldn’t see the source. His gun was too far away so he elected to raise his arms slowly, gambling that the man would have simply shot him dead already if that was his goal. Arthur hesitated a moment then did the same with a soft curse.

“We don’t mean no harm, we’re just crossin’ long the top of the ridge,” Arthur forced out in a louder voice after a few more seconds of silence.

“Who are you with? Planters?”

“Um… ourselves. Never heard of no Planters.” The brambles finally moved, revealing a middle-aged man with a grizzled beard and shoulder length brown hair. The face kept its nasty snarl, but he lowered the gun a few inches.

“Well, on you go then- round the ridge.” They both nodded to the man, still hunched down in the brush. His control of the gun looked confident, but a screen of sweat and unhealthy paleness gave away his bad health.

“Sure thing, just takin’ a moment to rest after the trip up, but we’re hopin’ to be miles from here soon as possible.” Arthur asked.

The man coughed, the tension replaced by an awkwardness as the men just stared at each other, “Ah…sorry folks. Just defending my land from those damn idiots the last few days, been stirred up half to hell.” Looked peaceful enough today.

“Sorry to hear that,” Arthur said.

“No need. And I suppose you don’t look the Plantin’ type,” the man said, gesturing to Charles. He turned his gaze on Arthur consideringly, “you neither actually. Not inbred enough.”

“Thanks… You gonna stay down there, then?” Arthur asked him, seemingly perking up at the newfound friendliness in the man. Charles had been fine, camping in the woods with nobody but Arthur to talk with but he knew the other man was a little bit more social- prone to chatting up strangers they came across, even as Charles tried to slink away. Said stranger shifted around a bit, seemingly weighing the question. But whatever he saw on Arthur’s face spurred him to answer in a resigned tone.

“My goddam horse got spooked and run off. Got stranded up here.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Not too bad at least. But Buell took my damn leg!”

“Who did what?” Arthur asked, approaching him, hands up in front of him.

“My horse. His name’s Buell. He dumped me up here, ran off. Thought I’d be fighting a whole brood of gunman from the bushes. But leg or no, I ain’t letting them down into the valley again if I can help it.”

“Buell then, where’d he go?”

“Not really sure, gotta be around though. Second time a prick named Buell’s cost me a leg.”

“Huh?”

“Buell was my general, when I lost it.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Anyway, if you see a bastard of a horse with a leg, I’d be real grateful. Not expecting no favors after threatening you, but…” Arthur looked up to Charles who nodded. He knew Arthur was going to agree, even before the decision was reached, could see the cogs turning. Seemed like every day Arthur was agreeing to ferry people between towns on the back of his horse and quick to run off in search of other’s possessions. It was rather endearing.

“Sure, see what we can do. Where you headed?” Arthur asked. The man didn’t answer right away. “Yeah, okay- didn’t mean no harm- just mean we can take you there on Ruby here while we look for Buell. He ain’t here.” The man considered the offer for a moment.

“Alright then, thanks. The place is just down this side of the valley- near the lake. If you wanna take me all that way I’ll make sure to give ya plenty of fish for your troubles. Hamish Sinclair, by the way.”

“Arthur Smith.” Charles coughed from behind him.

“And you?” Sinclair asked him for the first time.

“Charles…”

“Well nice to meet you both, despite these circumstances.” Hamish was a bit wobbly, but managed to make his way over to Ruby with only a little bit of help from Arthur when mounting. Even one leg short, he seemed mostly stable on the horse. Arthur made a sidetrack to him for a quick word.

“Sorry, guess we’re going through the valley anyway.”

“Don’t be. Maybe this means we’ll get a roof over our heads for once,” Charles replied.

“Good chance at least. And fish.” Arthur mounted up with Sinclair and they made their way down the winding trail as rabbits ran madly across the road. The house eventually came into a view as they turned the final bend. It was completely decrepit. Arthur exchanged a glance with him, this certainly wasn’t the warm homestead he’d hope to earn a night in, but Hamish sounded happy enough as he welcomed them.

“There she is,” Hamish said. They politely didn’t say anything about the missing roof or collapsing door as he helped the man inside. But as Charles followed them in, he saw the disarray from outside didn’t dictate the whole space, goods were neatly arranged and bundled together. Fishing gear, clothing, and a whole rack of well-polished guns lined the walls. A nest of blankets and a woodstove took up most of the room, a second blanket cording off the half of the house exposed to the open air.

“It’s a work in progress,” Hamish said, no doubt sensing the scrutiny. “Started just a couple months back.”

“Well it’s more than either of us have to our names,” Arthur said, not mentioning the significant stash of money they were carrying around in the lining of their clothes and saddlebags.

“Buell then?” Arthur asked him. He nodded and they set off from the little half-built cabin. From here the lake looked even larger, stretching out hundreds of feet from the little dock. The elk didn’t even move as they met eyes- this would be a great hunting location.

“I’ll go right, you left?” Charles asked, expanse of trees giving Buell countless options of hiding places.

“Sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have just agreed so easy to this, I just felt bad for him- in that bush up there.”

“I really don’t mind Arthur, it’s pretty down here. Let’s find the horse and look into the fish he was talking about.” And with that they split up to begin the hunt. The trees down this way were greener, heartier for the incoming weather but just as impressive as the reddened ones of the previous days. The last signs of wildflowers hung on in little clusters beneath the trees, pushing back against the morning frosts. It was a nice trail but the afternoon passed by like a dream, with no horse to show for it. I was probably an hour later when he saw the first sign of the beast. The hoofprints led up into the brush to his left, snaking up in an erratic pattern that spoke of fear. After his own tiring trek up into the brush he saw the first sight of yellow hair.

“Buell?” The horse stomped and looked over at him carefully. A few more calming noises and the promise of a carrot and the horse looked half ready to accept him, only spooking at bit as he approached. When Charles finally got a hand around the reigns his heart was beating quick in his chest, but after receiving the carrot and a few pats to the neck Buell was calm enough to lead him back to the main trail. Arthur waved from the other side of the lake.

“You got him! Good, was just findin’ a concernin’ number of deer up that way.” “He does have a look to him.” Buell took that confirmation to finally show his true colors, suddenly pulling against the reigns- yanking Charles along with him. “Shit!” Arthur backed off, gave them both space until Charles got his under control again.

But after his little tantrum, Buell seemed alright. He didn’t seem to mind when Arthur slowly approached again- quieter this time. By the time they reached the cabin again, Buell had been won over by Arthur, suddenly almost docile when the man brought out the sugar stash.

-

Hamish hadn’t been lying about the fish, by the time they reached the cabin, the smell of seared fish had encompassed the entire clearing. Hamish gestured them over the building and somehow the three of them found enough room to cluster around the woodstove, now open and utilized for cooking. On the upper walls of the house taxidermy deer and fish peered down at them, other trinkets purposefully tucked into every crevasse. But after months on the road, it didn’t come close to their weirdest encounter and Charles felt no danger here.

“So these Planters you mentioned. They’re outlaws?” Charles asked, from his place backed up against pointy fishing equipment. The gap next to Arthur and Copper looked much more comfortable, but half sitting on another man’s lap was surely not appropriate in front of company. It was odd, being near another person- the two of them hadn’t seen anyone else in days and had taken some liberties.

“Something like that but at some point, they ran into some money, turned straight. Now they’re bounty huntin’, but once a criminal… these folk are dangerous even if they’re on the side of the law. Seems the case often these days- law just as corrupt as the rest. I’ve got all the protection I need right here.” He thumped the gun wall, startling Arthur from his restive state. “I’m no criminal though, mind you. I killed that Planter for trespassing in my cabin. He was rooting around in there with his hulking mutt and pulled his gun on me first.” He glanced over at Copper apologetically, “yours is much nicer than the brute they had following them around, near chewing through all my leather goods. But anyway, now they’re out for my blood for defending my own home.”

Hamish had to contort himself to reach the cupboard, but after a few pained sighs and blind fumbling he found a bottle of whisky. “You drink?” He swung the bottle between the two of them questioningly. Arthur nodded and received the bottle for a drink but Charles could tell he drank just enough to be polite. Charles drank a bit himself and ate more fish while Hamish recounted the history of the region and listed all the animals on his hunting registry- an impressive spread of ruminants and fish. He seemed a coarse but simple man, easy to listen to.

“Wish I had more space for you two but feel free to pitch your tent out there, plenty of room near the trees. Been making progress over the months but I get tired real fast. The amputation weren’t clean and it weren’t too long ago neither.”

“A cannon ball you said?” Charles asked. Arthur was usually the more talkative of them, but Charles recognized the hazy look on his face, he was practically asleep already.

“Damn thing tore right through like butter. One moment I had a foot, the next I had a stump. The real problems came later though- somehow it got infected months after it near healed. One day I was fine, the next I was delirious with fever, black veins and everything. Doctor took it off at the knee. But I get by, can do all the same as before, just not so fast. I bought this land before going on to war and I sure as hell mean to live here.” Charles recalled his own ankle injury, the hopelessness and pain that swept over him at each unsuccessful step.

“Well, it’s lookin’ good in here,” Charles said, hoping he wouldn’t be taken sarcastically, he really meant it. The room was cluttered, and half-finished but it had more character than any of the hotel rooms Charles’s seen- it looked like a home. “Do you think it’ll be done by winter though? We were just talking about how cold it’s bound to get soon.”

“It’ll have to be, not about to freeze to death after surviving a cannon ball and listenin’ to Buell- human Buell- puff around for years. No sir.”

-

Arthur sat across from him, messing with the draw strings of their tent- he hadn’t spoken much at all as they set up their camp outside the dilapidated house. Charles settled deeper into the bedroll.

“I feel bad for the guy, livin’ like that. Think maybe we should help him a bit more?” Arthur said to Charles in a hushed voice.

“You want to?” Charles had entertained the idea himself in the face of Hamish’s story, they hadn't made any progress finding Arthur's family and could do with a break from the road. Having a warm cabin to shelter in should it get excessively snowy was a nice thought too.

“I don’t know. He definitely won’t survive a winter here with a house like that.” Arthur collapsed back onto his own bedroll by Charles’s with a little bitter laugh.

“He’s hardly useless, but I don’t see why we couldn’t help- if he even allows it. As long as we don’t end up freezing to death once we’re done.”

“I’d never let you freeze to death,” Arthur whispered as he climbed over to him, straddling his hips and bending down to kiss him. Charles indulged him for a few moments, heat building in his own stomach, but looked back towards the house regretfully as Arthur’s breath quickened. Arthur sighed, stilling over him, “Yeah, you’re right- not the best way to get on his good side. Guess I will let ya freeze to death after all.” But he made no move away, just nestled down at his side instead. “I should have pitched the tent further out.” Neither of them made a move to sleep right away, comfortable just laying there together as the gentle sounds of the night rose around them. “I really do want to stay a while- help him out. Don’t know why.”

“I know you do, you’re a good man. Sometimes.” Arthur scoffed but let Charles kiss him again. And let him clamp his hand over his mouth to muffle his moans when Charles reached into his jeans between them. It was decided- tomorrow, they’d ask Hamish to let them stay on as his own personal construction workers.


	14. Chapter 14

Hamish seemed to have a knack for building and after a few days of the man barking out complaints at his and Arthur’s technique they all settled into a steady rhythm. Morning was for wood collection and processing- Charles and Arthur taking off into the woods in search of appropriate trees. The first one they’d dragged back had left Hamish shaking his head and muttering about ‘city folk.’

“Don’t think either of us have even been in anythin’ that could qualify as a city, Hamish,” Arthur laughed, unphased by the outburst.

“You don’t got an excuse then.”

After that Hamish, traveled out with them and used a piece of coal to mark trees deemed worthy for their project, the man carefully considering the height, bark, and other mysterious traits before either grunting happily or shaking his head. Cutting them down was tricky at first, both agreeing to take turns hacking at the trunks with an axe. But after some trial and error and a few engineering lessons from the surprisingly versed veteran, they were able to fell the trees more elegantly. Luckily, they only needed a few- the blueprints were to yield a very modest home.

Afternoons were for the building itself, a slower process that required even more tactical skill. The loft and downstairs kitchen area were a given and their first endeavor, but then Hamish got to considering second room, poring over various crude drawings of the set up.

“Could be nice to have some space for my gear- don’t want too much clutter in the main house.” He didn’t seem to mind the clutter much in Charles observations, but he kept his mouth shut. “Or maybe if there’s guests comin’ through…” After that conversation, they’d settled on staying through the winter months to help with the hunting after the house was done. He had to admit, their own little room would be a welcome change from the kitchen floor or worse, their tent. For all their efforts, it was starting to get real cold out there with jut canvas separating them from the elements.

Even in their inexperience, they were able to raise the remaining walls in a couple weeks. Finishing the roof was proving a bit trickier with their limited supplies and Arthur’s refusal to let Hamish up the ladder, but they eventually got there. The man had grumbled at him, but Arthur held strong and finally devolved to joking insults to get his point across.

“What kind of man would I be if I let a man of your years up a ladder?”

“My age?”

“Yeah, what are you- mid seventies?” Arthur sidestepped the swat. “What you think Charles?” Guess he wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

“I’m quite sure I don’t know. Younger than that.”

“More like forties fool. Keep that up and you’ll be sleepin’ in with Buell and company all winter.” But Hamish had stood down and stayed to the ground floor, somewhat content to bark orders up to them as they climbed around adding purlins and rafters. Then came the flooring and reworking the doorway. Then finalizing the little stable for the horses off the side of the house. It was a big project but by working the days away, the jobs got done to their collective relief. It was an unspoken truth that Hamish would have never made it in time. He was a survivalist at his core so he’d probably have found a way to survive, but certainly not in any sort of comfort. No roaring fires and fully furnished kitchen cupboards.

-

“Maybe not a city boy after all, you caught onto this real fast. Could maybe even make a trade of it- with enough training.” Hamish was watching him chisel down the wood of the doorway, Arthur off collecting their dinner from the lake. One of the final pieces to replace the worn planks that had served as the door so far.

“Always carved it a bit, never thought to move such big chunks of it though.” Hamish wandered closer until his face was practically glued to the doorframe, inspecting his work so carefully Charles fought the urge to flee his gaze. But Hamish just gave an approving grunt.

“Well, I’m no professional but I know some folks- mostly veterans like myself, but trained men. If you ever want a word.” He was stunned, hands coming to rest. This was not what he’d expected when he’d caught the older man scrutinizing his work all morning.

“I...thanks. I never considered something like that. Not really the type to stay in one place.”

“May be in for a long winter then, the surrounding peaks get awfully piled up. Traveled up this way for years before the war- made it through a few winters in those caves up there.” He pointed off into the distance through the new window, but Charles couldn’t see far enough to reveal any caves, fog settling in as it was. “Barely survived. I was more…rotund back then- maybe that helped. What you carve then, if not doors?”

“Just little things. Bows or sometimes I just whittled stuff to pass the time.” He’d had an affinity for stags when he was younger but he’d fallen out of practice somewhere along the line.

“How’d you feel about giving this door a bit more character then? Not that you gotta, but like I said- the winter is long, it’s not bad to have a project. Think you’ll be okay… Arthur on the other hand.” Hamish just laughed at the thought. Charles agreed easily enough to the proposal as Hamish set off with a pat to his shoulder. From anyone else, he’d believe it to be a pleasantry only, but from Hamish the opportunity range true. A chance for a real, honest career. Odd.

-

The days got colder and colder, but the fireplace was larger now and there was room for them to sleep inside on deerskins spread out across the floorboards. Copper certainly appreciated sprawling out before the fire on cold nights, the spot much more glamorous than nestling up with the horses. The food was plentiful, and Charles found himself not fearing for his next meal. His foot hadn’t hurt in months, past a slight twinge and the hunting and fishing were beyond great. They spent a good amount of time stalking deer and elk from the bushes, only getting distracted some of them time.

Most nights ended with a bit of whisky and stories passed across the cabin. Hamish and Arthur getting drunk together was a complete disaster, but it seemed harmless enough except to the ears when they got to singing the old war songs Hamish taught Arthur. One night had ended with not just Arthur, but also Hamish declaring their undying love for him loudly after he made the trek outside to get them water and pick some mint for their roiling stomachs in the pitch dark. Other times were calmer, Arthur deep in his journal, Charles in his thoughts. Hamish would withdraw to his loft with a bottle those nights, and only sometimes startle them by shouting though nightmares.

It was one such night tonight, Hamish settled into a troubled sleep. Charles was currently plotting out what designs to add to the archway with a piece of charcoal and paper from Arthur while Hamish murmured a bit. His own sketching skills left much to be desired, but it would serve. It was late and he’d thought Arthur was already asleep on his pallet near the woodstove but when he went to join him, the pallet was long empty and cold.

He didn’t have to go far though, the trail of cigarette smoke led right to Arthur, the man sitting on a felled log over the water. He was a bit hunched over and Charles worried he’d be unwelcome, but he felt himself moving closer anyway. Arthur didn’t look up at him at first, continuing to stare out before him as Charles lowered him to the wood beside him.

“You alright? It’s cold out here.”

“I like it, was too warm in there tonight.” Charles didn’t know about that, the night had an edge to it and he wouldn’t be surprised if the morning yielded an inch of frost.

“You want some company at least?”

“Sure, if it’s you. I’m just feelin’ weird, get like that sometimes.” He was quiet for a time. “I miss them.” Charles heart sunk, Arthur didn’t have to tell him who. While they hadn’t talked about Dutch and the rest of the gang much, Charles sometimes saw the fleeting backwards glimpses or down into his journal. He’d lost his whole world, even as he set off with Charles.

“I’m sorry.”

Arthur looked over at him questioningly, “don’t say that Charles, not after what he did to you. Please…”

“I am though, sorry you had to choose. Sorry you’re hurting, regardless of my place in it all.”

“I just… been with them for years. And what about if John and Hosea go back? What do you think Dutch’ll tell them, that I’m just another traitor? Because it’s not like we’ll ever find them, here or nowhere.” Arthur was breathing quickly now, and Charles recognized the signs all too well. “I don’t know what to do. Even miss that bastard, even after everything. Don’t make no sense.”

“We’ll figure it out, just breathe.” Arthur wasn’t listening, but Charles didn’t expect him too. He let him manhandle him closer though, resting his head against his shoulder ready for the storm. But it didn’t come, Arthur instead going limp and silent. Charles didn’t say anything as he felt the first signs of dampness seeping through his shirt, somehow the silent tears were all the worse.

“We can send letters out. Leave them at train stations like you did for me.” It was a gamble, Charles not understanding the situation completely, but if there was any way he could help Arthur reconnect with those who actually cared for him, he’d have to try.

“Maybe,” Arthur answered at last, voice only wavering a bit. “Could try.” They sat together for a time like that, Arthur regaining his senses. “Want to stay here for now though, I really am happy. Just sometimes… I wish I could provide something for them, live like an actual family, introduce you to them. And then I go and realize how silly that is.”

“It’s not. Of course it’s not.” When Arthur finally let him pull him back inside, they were both tired enough to fall into a deep sleep on Arthur’s pallet. When Charles woke hours later to the first rays of light, it was a struggle to pull free and return to his own.

-

The final touches were added to the cabin well before the first real snow, only light patches of ice collecting around the clearing. Charles had to laugh at the huge bear hug Hamish caught Arthur in but was even more surprised to find himself lifted inches off the ground moments later by slighter man.

“There she is, better than I could ever imagine!” Hamish let him down and took a moment to recover from the strain with a low chuckle. “Feels good, no more wind blisterin’ my ass!”

It was a happy night, whisky flowing, best cuts of venison laid out before them on the new table. Hamish somehow got into weird war stories, each more embarrassing than the previous- Hamish seemed to have been quite the character. Still was really. Charles drank a bit more than usual and found himself revealing his deepest secret at Hamish’s urging. His failed hunt from the last year.

“I thought the stag was dead already- I’m usually a good shot,” he was too drunk for false modesty and Arthur nodded back, reinforcing his claim. “But he was just stunned. The second I reached the hillside he sprung up and knocked me back. I don’t know how but somehow an antler caught me in the head, got tangled up in my hair.”

“Understandable, happens to us all. Gettin’ tangled up in your hair that is,” he slurred, and Charles froze, glancing at Hamish. But the older man didn’t say anything, just snorted and gestured to Charles to continue on with his self-imposed shaming.

“Dragged me a good hundred feet into the snowbank, bleeding all over me. Then it peed on me.” Charles had been horribly embarrassed back then, content only with the fact no living soul would ever know about it. But now, Arthur and Hamish were both laughing hysterically like a couple of children. The night continued much in that manner, easy conversation flowing between the three of them.

The glow of the woodstove had diminished to almost nothing by the time they rousted themselves from the table.

“Still content to stay for the winter boys?”

“Course. Can’t leave an old man like you alone,” Arthur immediately stated, earning him a wooden kick to the shin. “Ow.”

“And you?” Hamish turned to Charles.

“Yeah, all this building gave me some ideas but surely they’re just that.” Arthur stumbled off to his bed but Hamish pulled Charles aside, gaze almost sober.

“What kind of ideas?”

“Just that maybe you have the right thoughts here. That having your own place has it’s benefits.”

“And you just realized that? Never been so comfortable in my life, like I said before- no wind in here.” Charles settled back down at the table at Hamish’s gesture. “You know. This land ain’t all I bought before the war, the next valley over’s mine too. Too far out for me to tend to but it’s good land. Wouldn’t be too bitter if you wanted to develop it a bit, see to the forest for me.” Charles just stared at him for a few moments, words not sinking in for a time. “We got extra wood already cut- could help you draw something up for spring. Why you looking so surprised? As if you didn’t just help me build my own place for weeks, hell, probably saving my life in the process.”

“Might look a bit odd, neither of us are married yet…”

“What? You planning on it sometime soon?”

“…No.”

“That’s what I thought. I don’t give a fuck, come up with a story- a dead wife.”

“You don’t mind then?” Charles asked, suddenly anxious what this hardened man thought of them.

“Course not. I wouldn’t have had you living in here for weeks if I cared. Talk it over with your ‘friend’ tomorrow then, I’m going the fuck to sleep now.” Hamish rose with a sigh, patting Charles shoulder before grumbling and heading off to the loft, navigating the little staircase fine despite the booze.

Charles felt light as he laid down to sleep himself, stifling a chuckle at the arms immediately dragging him closer. “You were awake?” he whispered, surprised after the amount of whisky he saw Arthur consume just hours earlier.

“Yeah, was eavesdroppin’ the whole time. He makes you chatty, I’m kind of jealous.” He didn’t sound too put off though. “How’d you feel about it?”

“Course I want to, but if you-”

Arthur cut him off, “me too.”


	15. Chapter 15

They set off the next morning, bags packed with dried meat and some clothing- enough for maybe a day of camping, two if they needed. Hamish gave them a salute.

“Couple days then?”

“Yeah, want to get a real good feeling for the land. We’ll bring back something to eat on the way back,” Charles said as they turned to the hills. It was a quiet morning, even more so without Copper tagging along. At least the horses got a chance to stretch their legs after days of nothing but short walks around the lake, both of them eagerly pressing on at a surprising pace with just the gentlest of encouragement.

“Think we should make the cabin a bit bigger than Hamish’s, just in case we need the extra rooms?” Arthur asked him as they filed along the narrow path in single file. He didn’t mention any names, but it was obvious who he was referring to.

“Yeah, like Hamish said, it might be nice to have some separate spaces.” Arthur hummed and gave Charles a thankful little smile, he truly seemed in better spirits now that they had sun on their backs and road beneath them. And the roads here were gorgeous, even as the undergrowth prepared for the chill of winter. It was as good of a country as they could hope for and though Hamish elected not to accompany them, the rough sketch he’d scrawled out alerted them to their arrival as they crested a final hill. The lake here was smaller but no less clear and a little stand of trees lined the sloping edges of the clearing in a gentle arc. Cliffs jutted up behind the foliage, offering even further protection from the elements. The small trail they rode in on the only human touch. It was small but perfect and he couldn’t help but stare down at the little canopied clearing by the waterside, almost large enough for a cabin. 

“Think we could get something up before the snows?” Arthur asked, joining him to stare at the spot from horseback.

“Doubt it, we probably only have a couple weeks.”

“Shame, he got me excited with all this- should have told us weeks ago. But I suppose he wouldn’t have had us all to himself in that case. Bastard.” Charles shoved Arthur gently with his shoulder as they both dismounted, surprising a laugh from him, but Charles couldn’t blame his overeager planning, the same little bug urged him on and pressed him to start the work. Even the little things- the furnishings, color of the curtains, a little cubby for Copper were running wild in his mind. 

While he was lost in his own thoughts and plans, Arthur drafted a few sketches in the book. He even let Charles watch the process after a few rapidly disposed failed attempts. The practical schematics were Hamish’s department but Arthur sure could draw handsome structures. Then they found themselves measuring the spot in boot falls, clearing out a little plot for the building. Perhaps it was all nonsense, and they’d need to start fresh come the spring thaw, but neither wanted to admit it, using sticks to mark off the dirt.

“We could at least start collecting supplies to hurry things along next year,” Charles suggested, boots exceedingly dirty from their rooting in the dirt. “We’d have to go down into town for enough nails and some new tools though, and I don’t know if that’s wise.” They hadn’t been in any towns for months now, fear of discovery all too real. But according to Hamish, the little town of Annesburg was only a couple days ride over low mountains. Even better, he’d said it was an isolated place that wouldn’t even grace any respectable maps. And now that their plans to traverse the western mountains were altered, they wouldn’t need to fear wasted time.

“A real bath does sound good, if I’m bein’ honest,” Arthur responded, patting Ruby as he continued to survey the little clearing. “Maybe some coffee. We could also check the local situation… leave a letter just in case.” It was an easy sell, both of them arguing the same points and pushing in the same direction. The freedom to just roam alighting them again, now free from their obligation helping Hamish with his cabin. 

“How much you have on you? I have…” Charles fished his money clip out of a pocket, “thirty.” He’d been surprised when Arthur advocated leaving both Copper and their money behind for safekeeping from the dangers of the road. Personally, he’d trusted Hamish more than he’d ever expected to, but to see Arthur part from his hoard so easily was new- the man was usually paranoid and careful, despite his affinity for other people.

“’Bout the same. Enough for nails and wood polish anyway.” And that was all the discussion they needed, shopping list the perfect excuse to get some more fresh air, both falling into rhythm easily after weeks at a standstill. Charles hoped that even after they built something, they’d still find time to travel like this, on the road for the simple sake of exploration and adventure.

Despite the cold nights and scarcer prey, the trail to Annesburg was fine and the pair covered distance quickly with their lightly burdened horses. Most of the trip was easy country but in the hills near Annesburg they kept watch overnight in shifts. Charles couldn’t place it but something felt off as they made their way through the dark woods. The oppressiveness of the place wasn’t what either expected after the stunning beauty of Hamish’s mountain, but they made it through with only one brief sighting of a grizzled man in the trees. 

Annesburg turned out to be little better. It was a filthy settlement, more mine than town- only a run-down inn and a few shops to show for itself. But coffee, candy, canned goods and building supplies were all readily available, for all its bleakness, this was a town of practicality. Arthur then tried to convince him to purchase a new gun with the rest of the money, gaze set unapprovingly on his old piece, still strapped uselessly at his waist.

“Thought we were going straight now?” He argued weakly, all too aware of Arthur’s feelings towards the gun.

“We are, but it’s not bad to have protection. ‘Sides, did you see the little bears and stuff they carved into all their guns? That’s gotta be the best thing in this whole lousy town. The only redeeming feature.”

“You can get one then.” Arthur gave him an unimpressed look, gesturing down to his belt.

“Already got two. Man with three guns looks awfully suspicious.” In the end, Charles ended up with a new gun and pair of boots to his name. They settled in the filthy little inn that night, basking in the privacy and ignoring the cockroaches. But despite that, even Arthur had no particular desire to stay longer than necessary. But when they stopped at the train station to leave their letter to Hosea the next morning, they were greeted by Dutch’s smug face, plastered in three places around the worn counter. Arthur turned to Charles with a look of terror. An hour later found them riding back up to the Hamish’s land poster and newspaper in hand. Arthur was currently trying to maintain a gallop while reading and Charles didn’t have the heart to try and stop him now. He looked devastated, as if each word was another little knife into his heart.

_Dutch van der Linde- Wanted Dead or Alive_

_$2,000.00 Bounty_

_Terror on the Railroad: A State in Panic_

_Dutch van der Linde and associates- known men include Hosea Matthews, Arthur Morgan, and Bill Williamson- are now under investigation after the attack on the railroad this past Saturday just North of Saint Denis. The men killed no less than sixteen civilians and three engineers when they diverted the train into a cliffside. Usually, this particular train moved just cargo, but on the tragic day in question, civilians utilized the back-train car for holiday travel. While most victims seemed to die on impact, one woman made it half a mile into the wood before succumbing to her wounds. Hundreds of dollars in cash, bonds, and jewelry were lifted from the wreckage, but the true value has not been determined yet, and the human loss can be assigned no earthy value. The manhunt has expanded to the neighboring states in an unprecedented struggle to bring these already well-known criminals to justice._

“There was no poster of you up. Maybe we’re safe all the way down here?” Charles said, but the words fell weakly, this was no small burglary he was being accused of. It was grand theft and mass murder. Arthur didn’t even seem to hear him anyway. 

“He killed all them folks!” Arthur looked less fearful and more furious now as they moved further and further from town, riding back the way they’d come at least double the speed of the previous day. “Always goin’ on about ‘feedin’ those that need feedin’’, that arrogant murderer.” Charles wasn’t sure what he was referring to, but he could understand the anger, the weight of all those people on Arthur’s mind.

“What do you want to do then?” Charles asked.

“Stow our shit on the plot and return to Hamish,” Arthur said, and Charles was surprised at his lack of hesitation. He looked downright murderous and Charles could only nod in agreement.

Arthur hurled himself off his horse and dragged the supplies behind him to hide in the tree cover once they arrived at the land plot just a couple hours later and Charles hurried to help. They couldn’t have been there for more than five minutes when a voice startled them away from their work. “What you boys doing up here? Bounty hunting?” the voice was level and friendly, but they both tensed, Charles quickly taking a step towards Arthur. A man in these lonely parts was probably not a thing of chance. He took in the man, a tall fellow with a graying mustache and warm eyes. The star badge and polished revolver shone too brightly to miss.

“Sheriff,” Arthur said, “good morning. We ain’t huntin’ bounties though, must be mistaken.”

“Saw you down in town with the poster, thought you might be onto something with how fast you cleared out- I gotta admit I got a little excited to see, given the state of things around here,” he said with a dejected little laugh before strolling down to their plot leisurely. He gave the felled trees and measuring tapes an inquisitive glance. “But I guess I was mistaken. Building something this time of year?”

“Yeah. We’re just drawin’ something out- won’t raise the thing till spring. Have to get it up before the wedding though, what kind of woman would marry a man with nothin’ to show for himself,” Arthur said, working to move the conversation fully away from bounty talk in a voice equally friendly to the portly officer.

“And you have his permission for that, do you son? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this is private land.”

“Yeah, this is my uncle’s land- he asked us to move cross country to tend to him.”

“Don’t sound too much like Sinclair, he’s a proud man- can’t see him begging another man for much...”

“Never said he was beggin’,” Arthur was clearly struggling to hide his annoyance, “He just mentioned it would be nice to have some more help around here- it’s pretty isolated.”

“And you?” the sheriff turned to Charles, face a little less welcoming that it had been to Arthur. “You also a nephew of his then?”

“No, I’m just helping with the building.”

“Hired Joshua down in town, fiancé can’t expect me to do everything myself- we’re talkin’ about a whole house mind you, and I’m only one man.”

“Well, if you’re living here- you’ll need to pay protection fees too unfortunately. There’s bad folk out there and my department is the only thing protecting these lands. Your uncle did mention that, right?”

“Of course,” Arthur agreed instantly. The sheriff seemed to relax at that, shaking hands with Arthur and sparing Charles a polite little nod.

“Look forward to meeting the wife.” Arthur offered a pained smile as the sheriff moved back towards his horse. The man turned to give one final friendly wave before mounting. Charles had a bad feeling; the sheriff hadn’t even asked Arthur’s name through the whole exchange despite all the pleasantries. Something was very wrong here.

“Arthur, that man…” he begun, hand falling to his own new gun.

“I know,” Arthur growled, drawing on the sheriff himself. What neither of them expected was the sudden shot in their own direction, the sheriff had won the draw while keeping his gun hidden the whole time behind the curve of his body.

“Shit,” Arthur groaned, holding a bloody hand to his chest, his revolver a mangled mess on the ground before him. So Charles took a chance, surprisingly himself by hitting the sheriff in the leg. Two more bullets narrowly missed them, spraying dirt across them both as they dropped to the ground. Arthur drew his other gun left-handed.

Arthur’s first shot flew just above of their opponent, and he cursed, changing his aim to a bigger target. But the shot to the horse’s haunch didn’t slow the beast down, just whipped it into a frenzy, causing it to suddenly take off in a wild gallop into the tree line. But even as the sheriff struggled to keep atop the panicked horse, he threw a final angry glare at them before disappearing into the trees. It was not the face of defeat.

Arthur turned to him with a bleeding hand, horror painted across his face. “Shit, that was dumb. The bastard knew! Charles, he recognized me!” Dutch and his train job had gone and successfully thrown the spotlight back onto Arthur, even this many miles out. He reached out, gently taking Arthur hand to reveal the missing link to his smallest finger, shot clean off at the nail. “Shit. Why the fuck didn’t I shoot him while he was right here... You think we can catch up?” But he was long gone, and their own two plodding horses couldn’t compare. “Or maybe he’ll bleed out from the leg…”

Charles didn’t know what to say as Arthur tore his hand back and struggled to his feet, broken gun left in the dirt. They both knew the Sheriff wasn’t dying any time soon, nor was he giving up on the chase. “We should go,” Arthur finally admitted, scowl as deep as Charles had ever seen it.

“Yeah- we’ll hurry and talk with Hamish. What’s done is done.”

“But… I don’t want to incriminate him…” He froze before continuing, dejected, “I already did though. I named him as my uncle,” Arthur breathed out a bitter laugh. They took off then, horses keyed up from the gunfire and blood in the air. The building supplies they left out, nails strewn about, tools dotting the landscape behind them. They’d never pushed the horses so hard, except their ride away from Dutch and Ruby was already whipping her foaming muzzle back and forth, confused at the brutal treatment.

“Sorry girl, we’ll be there soon.” And they were, heavy riding cutting the trip to a mere thirty minutes. The final push up the hill was hard on them and Arthur finally just dropped the remaining supplies from his saddlebag, the whole point of their journey to Annesburg thrown aside like nothing. Their riding wasn’t subtle as they thundered up to the all too familiar homestead and Hamish himself pushing the door open with the butt of his gun at the ruckus.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, eyes darting around them, falling to Arthur’s bloody hand.

“Nothing yet,” Charles assured him quickly, the sheriff had high tailed and run _away_ from them. Any potential danger was hours away. “But a sheriff seemed to recognize Arthur and we let him slip away. They’ll probably be coming this way.”

“What? Where was this?”

“Down at the pond. We’re unlucky I guess,” Arthur grumbled out, quickly sloshing water into the horses trough, the two beasts wasting no time drinking deeply through gasping breaths. Hamish seemed to somehow deflate, looking years older in his worn clothing.

“You sure he recognized you?” Charles nodded. “Well then…perhaps it’s best you two take off.” Charles knew it was coming, had planned on it himself, but somehow Hamish sending them off hurt all the more. Hamish must have seen it in his face, he stepped forward and clamped a calloused hand on Charles’s arm. “Don’t mean goodbye forever, but I know you two have a past. Course you do. But if you ever need a place, you know I’m here- I’ll never say a word to them.”

Arthur crept timidly back to them. “I may have said something stupid.”

“So nothing new?” Hamish somehow managed to joke, but his eyes were intent on Arthur, encouraging him to explain.

“I told them him you was my uncle. I didn’t know he suspected anythin’ at that point- he put on a good face, pretended to just be a curious fellow, quick to enact taxes on a new resident. Didn’t know anythin’ was wrong till it was too late. I’m sorry…”

Hamish just scoffed. “So I’ll deny it, say I’ve never seen you in my life. What can they do? They got no proof of nothing. Just get all your shit and go with my blessing, both of you.” He all but herded the two younger men into the house and Copper jumped about them, happier than Charles could stand.

“Can you do us another favor?” Charles asked, “can you watch her? I don’t think it’s safe with us. It never was but now… it may be worse.”

“Of course,” Hamish agreed easily, holding the dog back as the two of them tore through their little room, packing up everything they meant to bring.

“The money too,” Arthur called over his shoulder. “Too much of a target on us to risk it all. If we don’t come back…”

“Yeah?”

“Can you maybe… shit,” Arthur trailed off.

“You want me to deliver it to someone then?” Hamish asked, catching on quickly.

Arthur released another mirthless laugh, “yeah but I have no idea where you’d ever even find the folks. This is a mess.”

“That does make it harder,” Hamish sighed apologetically, “who are they?”

“If you ever come across them… Hosea Matthews and John Marston. They deserve that money more than I ever did.” Hamish took it all in calmly.

“Course Arthur. Won’t spend a penny of it. Now off you go, both of you- get out of here. Don’t go over them mountains though, it’s too late in the season, you’ll never make it.” But there didn’t seem to be anywhere to go. They were running from the North, new enemies were coming from the East, and the westward mountains blocked their passage, late as it was in the season. But they were together, with food and water and guns. With a final goodbye to Hamish, they once again fled from the law.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dutch, always ruining everything good for these poor souls.


	16. Chapter 16

They didn’t camp that first night, just slowed their pace enough to prevent utter exhaustion in the horses, riding through the night in near silence. Charles would have liked to spend more time focused on Arthur’s hand, but the quick bandage job would have to do. Arthur had just about snarled at him for even suggesting they stop to see to it a second time that night. Their path winded through thick spindly trees and treacherous ravines jutted out around them. Hamish had figured the southern forests would be a good place to disappear, but it was rough country and navigating the trails was miserable and difficult, always one move away from an agonizing fall. They debated multiple times if they should ditch the horses, but at the look of bewilderment on beast’s faces they knew that would be a death sentence for the stocky mares.

“If they catch us, you should plead ignorance. Nobody knows our connection except Hamish, and he ain’t talkin’. Just go with the story I laid out, you were just helpin’ me build a house and had no idea who I was…” Arthur said as they quickly set up camp in one of the more protected ravines, bunched up with the horses, no fire in the frigid air.

“They won’t buy it,” Charles replied, a bit offended at the thought.

“They might. I just can’t believe it. I thought we were free of them, then Dutch comes through and signs yet another death warrant for all of us. Hosea too. His name was up there.” Charles agreed with a nod but they were both tired, and there wasn’t much more to say. Charles let Arthur take the first sleep. How easily he agreed was almost concerning, Arthur falling asleep moments later in a sprawl of utter exhaustion.

It was quiet for a few hours and Charles’s vantage on the cliffside offered a good view of the woods below them. But their luck didn’t hold. Charles saw a little group of riders trotting along, no lanterns to illuminate the dark- would have missed them entirely if not for the moonlight breaking through the clouds. Four riders, all in dark clothing, one with a mask over his face. They were no law, more likely a pack of bounty hunters. He hurried back to their alcove and woke Arthur quietly, apology whispered out as Arthur flailed fearfully as he awakened to a hand over his mouth. But he recovered quickly and the two took off as quietly as possible on their horses. They didn’t dare gallop that night, the sound of hooves on the hard ground too risky in the echo prone canyon.

On that third day Arthur grew unsteady and Charles forced them to stop again at the first sign of shelter. After convincing Arthur to wait outside of the cave, Charles crept through the cavern slowly, eyes straining to make out any sign of a stray creature occupying the space. But the air smelled dull without the acrid stench of animal and the only sound was his own echoing footsteps. The cave was deceivingly large, half underground and full of winding passageways and impressive archways. When he went to retrieve Arthur and the horses, he ran into them already moving into the cave.

“I heard horses out there, figured I was just waitin’ to get shot out in the open.” He nodded, half worried that the cave would be an obvious shelter for two outlaws and half relieved to finally be out of the elements. At least the cave mouth had been sheltered from view from most angles.

“Good, let’s find a secluded section to lay low then.”

Arthur traced his hand over one bumpy rock wall approvingly. “It’s dry at least. I’m tired of running and sleepin’ in the mud again- Hamish spoiled us.” And he had, Charles tried not to reflect on their little straw mattress and collection of animal pelts.

“Yeah, dry enough anyway. Let’s go back there.” Charles pointed to one little outcrop of rock and Arthur agreed easily in his exhaustion. They settled into the little stone nook after seeing to the horses, the lantern dancing along the cavern walls gently as Charles dug around in his bag. “Here. Let me see your hand.” With that, Charles received another little glare from Arthur.

“It’s fine.”

“I know, I just want to change the bandage- with the weather like that it’s bound to be a little wet.” Arthur had changed it himself the last two days, curt refusals each time Charles tried to help him. Indecision weighed heavily on Arthur’s face, like Charles seeing to his hand was somehow a life or death decision. Though Charles supposed it could be, he’d seen the effects of sepsis and gangrene before. “Please.” And with that one little word, Arthur finally backed down, extending the offending limb to Charles before looking away.

“It ain’t pretty,” Arthur warned him as Charles began unfurling the bandages, but he just grunted- he didn’t expect beauty here. But he wasn’t quite ready for the wound, just managing to catch the little gasp in the back of his throat before it could push Arthur to retract his agreement. It had stopped bleeding, but the ends of the finger were ragged and raw looking. Charles could identify a little bit of fingernail remaining, jutting from the wound like a splinter. Water had seeped in, pruning the skin and giving it a pale corpse-like appearance. No festering, but a clearly horrid wound with no sign of healing. Charles startled from his inspection by the shivering, Arthur’s face looked almost as pale now, in the dim lantern light. “Think I might get sick again Charles. I can sew a simple wound, but this is somethin’ else...”

And he was right, they’d need a doctor or a miracle for any chance of keeping the finger. “We should head out again then, find someone to help,” Charles said helplessly. But who would help them out in the middle of this oppressive forest filled to the brim with law?

“The horses need to rest,” Arthur said. Another hard truth that Charles couldn’t refute, they’d driven them hard over the last days. So Charles did his best with his limited tools, washing the wound, spreading what medicine they had on the wound and rewrapping it in dry bandages. The hand looked better that way with the horrid, fragmented digit neatly wrapped and hidden away, but with every passing minute Charles imagined what horrors could be taking place just under that surface. How long did they have before it was too late? He couldn’t help the memories of Arthur’s last bought with sickness from taking over. The hard breathing and complete loss of appetite. And even more, Arthur’s refusal to accept the help he so clearly needed- skulking off like a wolf withdrawing to die alone with every coughing fit. Charles had stumbled across him on the floor bleeding from the mouth twice over those weeks and had struggled to keep himself from lashing out at the nonsensical rejection of his help.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” Arthur asked, startling him from his own morbid thoughts.

“Nothing much, just worried about all the law. I’ve seen farmers comb woods in a rage searching for a stray wolf or bear, scanning every bush in the hopes of bringing down the beast that killed their goats. Been asked along a couple times even. Feels like that.”

“So which am I?” Charles cocked his head in confusion, “because I think you’re more like a cougar really, way too sneaky than you have any right to be.” Charles considered him in the darkness, trying to latch onto anything other than his own mounting dread.

“To be honest… you remind me more of Copper than either.”

“What? You callin’ me a dog?” Arthur laughed, and curled up against him shivering but no longer morose. Charles moved his arm to accommodate him.

“Well, you called me a cougar.”

“That was a compliment. Cougars are talented, independent, and deadly. Copper’s a domesticated half-wit!” Charles opened his mouth to defend their dog but found that he couldn’t- Copper was perfect and adorable, but ultimately, she had a death wish. In just the last month they’d pried oleander sticks from her mouth, dug her out from a rock fall and stopped her from trying to befriend a wolf.

“Well you’re not a half-wit… mostly,” he answered, laughing at Arthur’s weak glower. Somehow the man looked happy behind that front despite the mess that seemed to close in on them with each passing hour. He tried to focus on it, tried to push the whispers of ‘Dead or Alive’ to the back of his mind. “You should try and get some sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy.” Arthur’s shivering had finally stopped, now that he was plastered to Charles’s side, head on his shoulder. “You should tell me a story.”

“What? I don’t really know may stories.”

“No, a story from your childhood or something- you haven’t talked about it much. You don’t have to though, sorry if that’s a weird question.”

“No, I…alright. But don’t expect anything too exciting, my past is hardly interesting.”

Arthur snorted before continuing softly, voice muffled by his shoulder, “It don’t need to be interestin’… I just want to hear you talk. I don’t know, tell me about the first thing you ever stole or something.” And just like so many other times, Charles found himself unable to deny him. He recalled his time as a child, struggling to make sense of the world.

-

Charles palms sweated around the little flower stems as he prepared to complete the sale. He tried to school his face into a smile even as fear radiated out of him. The woman was white and well dressed and he couldn’t tell her age. Old definitely, at least fifteen. 

“And your ma said these would help me?” He opened his mouth to answer her but found his voice wasn’t working so he nodded. She gave a little grimace and reached for her skirts, for her money clip. He was still sweating and feeling sick now. “How long will it take then? I was hoping to marry Clyde before the fall. I need him to marry _me_ and not that old bitch,” she was demanding and the glower, while probably not meant for him, unnerved him to no end.

“Um… three months,” he broke out. They’d be long gone before that. Before she’d even be aware of his lies.

“That long? What if I double the amount in the tea boy?” That was a good point and he froze, shook his head.

“You’d poison yourself.” She turned pale at that and all but shoved the dollar bills into his hands.

“My god, Clyde’s hardly worth that much. This had better work, three dollars is a lot...” And with that, the woman was gone, and Charles was left breathing hard on the doorstep, a bit richer and completely scandalized. A few more dollars and he could stop this madness- just a few more customers. He rifled through his satchel to gauge his stock. Berries and flowers filled it to the brim, only a few of the plants crushed from the road. He’d been collecting all morning, looking for the brightest and more beautiful flowers in the surrounding woods while his mother slept on. She would have had questions for him. Questions he’d hoped to avoid.

The red house to his right marked the start of the dangerous region- three tall houses all lined up and well decorated with potted plants and hanging outdoor swings. He checked the windows for angry women with brooms or worse, men. But the day was still and silent and with a final strained breath he took off down the street at a full sprint, trying to pass the houses as quickly as possible.

“Why you runnin’ boy?” a man asked as he skidded to a halt at the end of the stretch, suspicious and Charles sucked in a breath. But he didn’t quite have the words to explain himself so he shrugged. But the man quickly lost interest in trying to discover what mischief he was up to, settling to stalk away with a final wary glare. Charles continued on his path to Ms. Rosie at the end of the road. He breathed a sigh of relief when it was her that opened the door, and not her morose husband.

“Charlie!” she cooed and he felt his cheeks warm, he hated that name.

“Hello Ms. Rosie,” he recited, nervous to speak to her for the first time alone. Usually, he was with his mother when they made their rounds here, selling her wares to the townsfolk.

“Where’s your mama?” the embarrassment grew.

“She sent me this time, I’m old enough.”

“Oh alright then Charlie, you definitely are taller than last time.” He smiled at that, but the wave of guilt that suddenly hit him surprised him and almost sent him backing down. But he was in too deep now, he was a criminal now.

“Here’s the medicine,” he handed over the little vial his mother had mixed up the previous day, something bitter tasting to stop nausea. “Also, there’s new flower that’s supposed to make it work better.” Ms. Rosie gave him an inquisitive look.

“And what’s this flower then?” He reached for his bag and pulled out the first bundle he could find in his nervousness. Soft pink petaled flowers. He handed them over.

“Crush them into your tea. She said they were two dollars.”

“And your ma sent you out here today, did she?” She sounded wary as she inspected the little blossoms closely. He nodded quickly, prepared to run if she interrogated him further. With a sigh, she handed him the money for the medicine, plus two crisp bills. He couldn’t keep his hands from shaking. “They really are pretty little things. But Charlie?” He stared back in discomfort at the stern tone. “You best be careful around here, you understand? Maybe it’s best your ma come by if she’s trying to sell new products.”

He nodded again, waiting for her to release him from that unsettling gaze. And eventually, after a little pat to the shoulder and a sigh, she did. He had already made it halfway across town when he realized that he had just sold a little cluster of roses to Ms. Rosie.

He had a few doors slammed on him by the end of the day, but luckily the threat of releasing a dog after him had been just a threat. He only got three customers of his own that day, and the third had been an old man that didn’t seem to know his own name. But his take was good, he’d collected seven dollars in change. And his mother would never know, they’d be long gone from this region and any whispers from Ms. Rosie or any of the rest of them would be lost forever. He almost threw up a couple of times on the way back to his mother, thoughts of his lies swirling around his head. Maybe they’d be a manhunt for him when the young woman failed to draw Clyde in with her flower tea, when Ms. Rosie realized she’d been lied to, when the old man failed to ‘get hard enough to cripple’ his wife. So when he presented his mother with the gift, he couldn’t even manage a smile.

“Did you steal this?” she asked, and Charles wanted to cry.

“No! I bought it for you.” He said, his story already prepared. “I found the money on the ground and thought you’d like it.” He held his breath and waited for her verdict; he’d practiced the lie on the way back from town. But eventually she accepted his lie and donned the little hair clip with a smile and a kiss to the cheek. They’d left town the next day.

-

Charles finished his story, the same embarrassment from all those years before trickling over him. Arthur just looked at him in disbelief.

“I don’t believe it! How old were you?”

“Not sure, seven maybe eight.”

“I’d never pinned you for a snake oil salesman. The real hero of the story had to have been Ms. Rosie though, no way she didn’t see through that shit.” Charles laughed, at the time he’d been sure he’d tricked her.

“Yeah, I was crazy to even try it- it’s just selling plants was the only way I ever saw my mother get any money. And she’d lost the hairpin from her own mother the week before…” Arthur shook his head at the justifications that Charles found himself falling into, all these years later.

“Even in your crimes you’re just too sweet. Unbelievable. The first thing I remember stealin’ was the last can of salmon at the local shop so a random asshole who called me ‘grubby’ couldn’t get it. And then I fed it to a dog.”

“Of course you did.”

Charles wasn’t sure when Arthur finally submitted to sleep beside him, but even scarier was begin awoken hours later- he’d fallen asleep alongside Arthur leaving nobody on watch. But there was no gunfire or yelling, just Arthur’s soft morning greetings. His back hurt from sleeping on the rocks but he was warm now, and couldn’t help pulling Arthur into a gentle hug before rousing himself into another day of running.

-

Charles knew the bounty hunters were gaining on them as the next day passed by. Their own horses were slower than normal even, beaten down by hard days on the road after weeks of unregulated grazing. They’d found all the main roads barricaded, and liked he feared, there were signs that there was a perimeter of law wrapped around the whole area. Odd how such a sprawling mass of trees and rocks could feel so small and enclosed.

“All because I couldn’t just shoot the damn sheriff,” Arthur mumbled, playing with the bandages wrapped around his finger. But as Charles opened his mouth to somehow refute Arthur just shook his head and fell back onto the saddle. “They’re not playin’ around here. I’ve tried my hand at law evasion my whole life, but this is different- for all the shit Dutch pulled off, he never killed folk like that. Maybe some law here and there, but nothin’ like this.” And it really did feel like that, from complete obscurity to this overnight.

It was about an hour later when they stumbled across the next danger tucked into the precarious cliffside. It was just dumb luck that saved Charles’s horse as the two jumped out from their hiding place, but Arthur wasn’t so lucky. Charles could hear the yell of desperation as that first shot rang out, a deafening shotgun blast that surely alerted the whole region to the struggle. Animal shrieking filled the clearing as Ruby reared up in pain and confusion as Arthur tried to keep his seat and reach for his own gun. But the horse didn’t let him, suddenly stumbling to the side, crashing to the ground with her rider partially underneath.

“Arthur!” Charles yelled, turning his new revolver on the first officer with a sudden bout of rage. He looked young and by his surprised expression, Charles figured the hit to Ruby’s chest was a lucky accident for him. The gun was shaking in the man’s grasp and while the hesitation was miniscule, it cost him everything- Charles shot him in the throat. But as he whipped his barrel towards the other lawmen, instead of a shootout, Charles was presented with a back. The man was running away from them in terror as his downed partner gurgled and screamed between them.

“Charles! Don’t let him get away!” Arthur’s voice was strained, weak as if he had no air in his lungs. Charles shot the fleeing man in the back. Once, then again. He stared horror at the sight before him, two dead men sprawled out in a sea of blood.

“-Arles, I can’t.” Charles whipped around to find Arthur still pinned beneath the beast of a horse, bandaged fingers clawing at the earth, futile in their attempt to pull him to safety. Charles rushed forward to help him as he gasped for breath. The first two attempts to shove her off failed spectacularly, leaving Arthur even more crushed and desperate than before but he finally was able to get some leverage and haul the horse up. Arthur wasted no time, crawling forward- pulling his legs out in a mad scramble. Charles fell to the ground beside him breathing hard himself and could only watch in a daze as Arthur crawled to the side of the road to vomit, still struggling to breathe.

“Arthur, come on,” Charles hauled himself to his feet and rushed forward to pull Arthur up too. He he staggered, only kept upright by Charles vice grip on his arms. There was no obvious damage but the force of a falling horse was nothing to joke at. When Charles tried to push Arthur towards his own horse though, she shook her head wildly and kicked out, driven to a panic by the blood and death. He tried to hush her, calm her somehow but only drove her away from them both in her mania. “We’ll never outrun them all,” Charles said, stating the obvious as Arthur just glared at the ground, eyes hard, the same hopeless thoughts surely cycling through his head and their only chance at escape whined and danced away yet again. “And the gunfire…”

“But there’s no use turnin’ ourselves in, they'll just execute us” Arthur said softly. They made it just a few steps before they heard hoofbeats closing in, stumbling towards the lawmen’s alcove as Charles turned to see the first horseman break though the tree line behind them.

“Arthur Morgan?” the rider asked loudly into the air between them. Charles went to raise his nocked gun but Arthur had other plans- suddenly finding the strength to shove Charles down behind the boulder, still slick with blood. Arthur landed on top of him, elbow catching Charles in the jaw. But no offending gunfire broke out behind them, an eerie quiet settling over the scene. 

“Fuck, sorry,” Arthur offered, still flailing about in search of his own gun. It was gone, no doubt stuck under the damn horse. So again, he asked Charles to trust him with his own. “I’ll kill ‘em all, then we can leave,” he said, face straining in pain, voice a growl.

“Last chance Morgan, come out now and you’ll be spared any unnecessarily rough treatment by my peers. I’m the only one between you and them now.” Laugher broke out from around him. But Arthur’s face was set in a snarl and Charles knew he never would. But as Arthur pushed off the ground to meet them face on, Charles yanked him back.

“We do this together.”

Arthur looked lost. “How?” Charles grabbed a nearby rock from the ground.

“Distraction. I need to get to that corpse to get the other gun.” He pointed at the felled officer, a few paces away. Arthur took the offered rock lightly. “You distract them, I’ll get it.” Charles knew it was probably impossible, there were at least four armed men, no doubt aiming down at them from horseback.

“No. Then they’ll kill _you_ ,” Arthur hissed savagely, pushing him down roughly. Charles head knocked into the rock behind him, hard, leaving him dazed and Arthur wasted no time. He threw the rock hard off into the bushes himself then leaned out from his rocky cover- firing two shots off quickly. Charles couldn’t see what was happening but at the little grin, he dared to hope. Whinnies broke out, then an angry shout. Arthur pulled back into cover, eyes locking with his own. “Two down.”

Arthur prepared for another volley when Charles heard the first bark. Then more hoofbeats from behind them. Arthur heard it too and whipped around but neither of them were ready for the dog when it burst out from the foliage, hurtling into Arthur with all its considerable weight. Before Charles could even register what had happened, Arthur was being dragged by the shoulder out from behind the boulder. He stumbled out after him, directly into the line of fire, their one remaining gun disappearing in the struggle.

Charles looked up in horror, three guns were trained on him as the dog continued to pin Arthur. The massive hound had it’s teeth firm in the tough travel coat and Charles could only hope the teeth hadn’t torn too deep. Charles had never seen the man so useless in a fight, completely losing to the beast, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the bloody maw. Charles grabbed the dog by the leg tried to tear him off. The massive dog slipped backwards, clearly confused but pulled away and continued on the assault, all but ignoring Charles. Laughter erupted around them.

“Stop, we need ‘em alive,” one man finally hissed. “Call the fucking dog off already, Jesus.”

“Duke, at ease,” another shouted out as the dog. It stopped, eyes still crazed, tail wagging. “Tie them up.” Charles struggled away from the ropes but there were too many men and the guns were still trained on them both. Arthur got similar treatment beside him, so shaken from the dog attack that he hardly even had the chance to struggle. The group of bounty hunters looked ragged and thin- clearly desperate for a taking, and Arthur was certainly that.

“That bites gets infected and we lose the bonus you fool, every time.” The tall, mustached man kicked one of his own fallen companions as he stalked towards them. “Least we don’t gotta listen to Jim’s speeches no more. Benny!” The man, Benny, bent down next to Arthur, inspecting his shoulder with a little grunt. Then grabbed it and twisted it mercilessly as he pulled him to his feet and Arthur found his voice again, shouting out in pain. “There, now thank him and walk.” They marched them along the narrow path towards the horses, Arthur needing a good deal of support from the scrawny, disheveled bounty hunter to even remain standing on the unstable cliffside. But even the short distance to the horse was near impossible for Arthur to navigate, hurt as he was.

“Fuck it, put him on your horse Benny,” the mustached man yelled over to them, impatient at the slow going.

“What? But what if he escapes?” Benny asked in confusion.

“I didn’t tell you to let him ride the damn thing, just throw him over the back.” Charles watched as Benny sized Arthur up, his own scrawny limbs hardly looking strong enough to carry his own weight. “For god’s sake.” As soon as Benny released Arthur to clear a space on the horse, he stumbled towards Charles.

Charles saw what Arthur was planning from by his expression, eyes darting behind them at the expanse of open air. “Won’t let them take us in, we might make it,” he whispered to Charles wildly. The trees beneath them were far below, the rocky cliffside sheer and jagged. They wouldn’t and surely Arthur knew that.

“No,” he whispered back, horrified at such a thought- memories of falling washing over him unbidden. Tied up and defenseless. Arthur just stared at him in a daze, then out behind them- his precious seconds passing by as Benny unloaded the saddlebags. All other paths were blocked off by more gunmen.

“We can’t let them get us, you don’t understand,” the whisper was wavering and Arthur was swaying now but Charles couldn’t steady him with his arms tied behind them as they were. They just stared at each other, even in his weakened state, Arthur could probably manage it, sending them both careening off the edge. But the fire in his eyes seemed to fade as the seconds passed and Charles saw the moment he backed down. The bounty hunters were none the wiser to how close they’d been to losing their payment. “You’re right... I...” Arthur was cut off as the mustached man and Benny pulled him back and manhandled him onto the horse.

“Get that fucker away from the edge!” the larger man yelled to the other men as Charles took a moment to consider the drop himself. On the off chance he survived, he could go back for Arthur. But then he met Arthur’s eyes from where he was strapped down to the horse. He couldn’t risk dying and leaving Arthur to these men. He stepped back into the grasp of the bounty hunters. And with that, their fates were sealed.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for my extremely limited medical knowledge, Wikipedia was my friend here.

Charles had never been arrested before, had never felt the true sting of the law despite dancing over the line of legality his whole life. But these men were no law, just another gang of outlaws tipping themselves back over that same line. Possibly the Planters Hamish had referred too, perhaps just another group trying their hand at something new, but there was no shine of justice in their eyes, only the twinkling promise of full stomachs and new clothes on their backs. In some ways, Charles couldn’t blame them, but if he managed to get himself free of his bonds, he’d also have no regrets about putting them in the ground. He couldn’t forget the dog tearing at Arthur as he flailed about and the victorious cheers as they were tied up and loaded over the horses like slaughtered deer. 

The hours spent on the chestnut mare’s back were some of the most painful of his life, each step of the horse over rocky terrain sending jolts through his chest. He’d welcome a fractured ankle over this painful struggle to breathe. Arthur didn’t sound much better, his enraged cursing and threats growing more and more faint as they rode on through the murky woods. Charles couldn’t say how much longer it was before he broke free from his thoughts to rough hands pulling him up off the horse. A bitter part of him delighted in the pained grunts of the men working to move him- these men may be good shots but none of them had much muscle to them, just the emaciated look of hungry men.

The body was taken to bury, and both the prisoners affixed to trees while the little tent camp rose around them quickly, tarps raised to keep out the chilled sprinkling of water from above.

“Arthur?” he dared, defiant even as he earned a quick blow to the face. But there was no real sting to it, just a threat and Arthur didn’t respond at all. His mind kept jumping to scenarios, each one more morbid. A concussion. A ruptured lung from the ride. Or it could just be his hand, simultaneously the most concerning and realistic ailment of all.

But even as Charles fretted over his own fears, the mustached man, Jameson, permitted Benny to wipe down Arthur’s bites as they settled in for the night, even spared a bit of his own whisky to clean them out. But for all the blood and unconscious snarls emerging from Arthur’s limp form, the bites didn’t look too deep, the brunt of the damage caught in the thick leather coat hanging usefully from one shoulder. After that one hurried kindness, the group wasted no time descending into revelry as Charles looked on in disgust.

Drunken men usually meant a better chance of escape, but the longer he pulled at the bonds the more hopeless the situation appeared, nothing budged. Not even slightly. His hands were bound behind him, his feet before him, his entire chest wrapped around the thick tree. But he continued to try as song broke out around him, then drunken dancing, a slurred speech. Benny was clearly the workhorse of the team, beaten down but eager to please even as he worked on his own whisky bottle- darting around with bowls of food for his gang members between sips. Then there was Emilio and Rodrick, bored looking men when sober, but ignited by the flowing whisky. There was another quiet man Charles couldn’t name, but clearly the group revolved around Jameson, every joyous shout and shot of whisky a gift from their leader, the man looking down on the group with stern contentment.

“This one’s for Jim,” Rodrick said dramatically, pouring a little booze to the ground. “The self-righteous prick.” But they all raised their own bottles, even Jameson, giving their fallen member some measure of respect.

“Hey _Morgan_ , you want some?” Rodrick asked, finally sparing a thought for their prisoners when Arthur started mumbling under his breath. Charles noticed too, gaze jumping to Arthur to try and decipher the broken little fragments. But the words hardly sounded like English from the distance, sad things that struggled to break free his lips at all. Rodrick stumbled over and with a little laugh shoved the half-filled alcohol into Arthur’s face. “You look like a man who needs a drink.”

“More like a man’s who’s been in his drink all night already,” Emilio exclaimed with a little grin of his own.

Arthur didn’t answer, just raised his eyes to glare back from his position tied to the tree, eyes tracking the movement of the bottle. Charles’s heart sunk the two men closed in on him excitedly. But what Charles hadn’t expected was Arthur accepting the bottle easily and taking a deep swig as Rodrick held the bottle to his lips, glass making an audible clink as it hit against his teeth. Hoots and laughter surrounded the moment, even Jameson cracking a smile at the display. Arthur’s face was blank at the jeers and splash of booze down his face, eyes fixed ahead of him, at nothing Charles could see.

“Man knows this is like to be his last drink. Cheers!” Emilio cried, sparing a mean little glance at Charles, something knowing curled into that expression. And as Charles watched in horror, Arthur accepted another swig, then another- gulping down the alcohol as if he too was part of this revelry. “Think your little friend here has a drinking problem.”

“Arthur,” Charles hissed, any hope of escaping in the haze of alcohol depleting as Arthur lost more and more of himself to the drink. But in the end, it wasn’t Arthur’s own self-control but the bounty hunter’s greed that cut him off, Arthur slumped to the side, clearly drunk but not yet incoherent. “Arthur!”

Dazed eyes met his. “Charles…” he slurred a bit. “Hurts…” Charles couldn’t miss the shaking and paleness that had come over Arthur, a final confirmation of what he’d feared all day. He was more than hurt, he was sick.

“The bite?” Charles asked, then cursed as Emilio reached out and gave the injured shoulder a rough pat. 

“No.” Arthur tried to move his arm a bit and Charles’s gaze fell to where his wrists were bound tightly together, no regard for the bandaged hand. And from the looseness and red tinge to the gauge, he’d clearly been making it worse by tearing at the bonds. Charles had been doing the same so intently he hadn’t noticed how roughly Arthur had treated himself, had to contort himself to even meet eyes with the man now.

But Arthur had no more words for him, and after a few dragging minutes, he passed out in a haze of alcohol, still shivering and exposed as the party celebrated on around him. All that night Charles continued struggling against the bonds, pushing back against the tree, anything he could to get himself free. But other than some raw wrists of his own and lightheaded exhaustion, the morning came with no progress, only a deep hatred that grown out of control as he looked down at his comfortable jailers in their triumphant slumber. Arthur hadn’t moved all night as he lay unconscious against his tree, even as Charles had called out to him in desperate whispers. But time did pass, the camp finally waking up and returning to business as usual, if a bit slower from their well-earned headaches.

“Benny!” Once again, Jameson barked out orders, mild mood of the previous night all but vanished in the harsh light of day. “Deal with the prisoners.” So with a final grieved look and cut off complaint, Benny ambled over to him. Charles held his breath as prepared to finally push forward the second his bonds to the tree were removed, tied hands or no. But Benny, scrawny as he was, was filled with the skittish wariness common in vagrants, especially those who couldn’t rely on their own fists in a fight. Before Charles’s tether to the tree was cut, his feet were checked, another rope looped around his neck. And so, any plans of a desperate dash to Arthur were cut off and his ribs cried out in pain as he was loaded back onto the chestnut mare by three sets of hands.

“Morgan looks kind of dead James.” Emilio said, a nudge of his boot failing to rouse Arthur.

“He ain’t dead, just hungover. Here,” the Jameson began impatiently as he stalked over to the tree. “Morgan!” Arthur awoke with a little cry of surprise? Pain? Charles couldn’t see from this angle, could only focus in on the loud of voices and the sound of thrashing.

-

The path became more and more rugged and broken up, whole stretches of dirt torn up by shifting earth and rockfalls. But the little party picked their way through the rubble over the early hours of the day with only a few complaints. The rain had picked up again and Charles had to squint against it to see more than a few feet in front of him. And after the first time throwing himself off the horse, he’d learned his lesson, he needed no more reminders of just how hard the ground was, wet mud or no.

When they reached the first fork in the trail Jameson brought them to a stop, a few confused glances shared between the rest of the men as they clustered together in the downpour.

“Boss?”

“This way,” Jameson said finally, pointing to the righthand path.

And finally, the silent man spoke. “No, Annesburg is left.” Benny nodded hesitantly; eyes pointed downwards even as he refuted his leader.

“We aren’t bringing them there, I’ve had a change of thought. You think that two-bit sheriff will give us half of what they’re worth? This is a van der Linde man right here,” he grabbed Arthur by the hair, shaking him about for emphasis. “Not sure about that other one, but- well they’re together aren’t they? Probably one of Dutch’s guns.”

“We won’t get as much if he’s already dead and the road is long to Saint Denis,” the unnamed man said, voice hard. 

“Best help Benny keep him alive then. I put him in charge of the man’s care so the way I figure, if he expires before we can sell him, that will come out of his share.” Even from his spot thrown over the saddle, Charles could see the anger clouding Benny’s visage, the first sign of anything but deference and obedience. Jameson clearly noticed too, voice lower, more of a growl, “unless you think that’s not an appropriate distribution of wealth. Could always drop you as we did your brother. That what you want Benny?”

“…No.” But the anger remained plastered on his face and Charles secretly delighted in any hint of rebellion. If Arthur was awake maybe he’d have some yarn brewing to divide these men further, maybe enough to cause a full-blown breaking of the ranks. But he wasn’t, he was currently murmuring over the back of Benny’s horse, clearly deep in fever- the very thing Charles had desperately tried to stave off these last days, coaxing Arthur to pliancy. And what would he do if Arthur simply did die out here, strapped to the back of horse? He forced his thoughts back to their construction plans as the group finally headed down the path to Saint Denis, the seed of descent deeply buried again.

Arthur had wanted goats of all things, a whole pen of them brought up the mountainside to keep the horses company. For cheese and milk, and probably just out of his general weakness for cute things.

“Why not cows?” Charles had asked, not entirely convinced.

“Goats are less picky, will eat just about any dang weed out here.”

“And our clothes, and shoes. And hair.”

Arthur gasped dramatically at that, “I’d never let a goat eat your hair Charles. If it dared, we’d be feastin’ on a roast goat for sure. But really, goats are easy and cheap.” And like so many times before, Charles hadn’t been able to deny the man much, he’d get his goats.

“Yeah, we can get some goats to keep down the weeds if you are so set of it.”

“And a cat? No proper rancher wants a house full of rats.”

“I don’t know Arthur, rats are very intelligent and beautiful creatures. We could learn a lot from watching their movements and raising them alongside the rest of the animals.”

Arthur gaped at him, actually shocked to silence for once, but only for a few seconds. “Really? Rats?” He looked like he was holding back something, and Charles struggled to keep his face blank. “I guess, if you really think so we could clear out a little bit of space in the stables, away from the pantry…” Charles could only keep the laughter down for a few moments, before Arthur caught on and turned a bit red as he gently shoved Charles almost off the side of the log they were sharing.

“You’re the worst! Here I was, about to invite a bunch of vermin into our house for you and your just messin’ with me!” But he didn’t look too upset, even as he continued his scolding. “I’ll put every damn dead rat Rusty kills in your wardrobe!”

“Rusty? You’ve already named our cat then? And I’ve certainly never owned a wardrobe before.” Arthur turned even more red somehow.

“Well I was thinkin’ we best prepare for every scenario. Rusty and Copper.” His voice had been light and relaxed, none of the grit that often fell into his tone on the road. In the breezy clearing, it was almost easy to forget the rough lives they’d both led, the blood and fear that defined their pasts.

“Sure Arthur,” he’d kissed Arthur then, the ease at which Arthur leaned back into him still thrilling even after all the months. That somehow this beautiful man wanted to raise goats and cats with him in the mountains.

But now, he would give anything to stop hearing Arthur’s pained words. Almost wished the party would spare the man some more whisky to ease the terrors that seemed to plague him. He’d heard ‘Lyle,’ and ‘Dutch’ slurred out over the hours, the same horror and longing threading through each name. He couldn’t focus on his memories of goats and cats as they got more incessant, memories of pneumonia and sickness washing over him instead. He could help but curse the pure unfairness of a world that would cast a man directly from one sickness to the next. They finally were forced to stop when Arthur vomited, Benny getting more and more agitated as his money got closer and closer to flying away.

“The damn thing looks fine,” Jameson said moments later once the hand was unbound roughly, Arthur still across the saddle. “Don’t, don’t know _what’s_ wrong with him.” Charles watched them handle Arthur, a familiar anger welling up deep within him at the careless treatment. They hadn’t braced his hand at all as they pulled it free the bandage, hadn’t even had the decency to wipe his mouth.

“Fine? It looks disgusting.” Emilio broke in, glaring at the display in disgust.

“It looks plenty gored and cut up to high heaven, but it’s not discolored none. He should make it, just pour some more of that whisky on it- long as he lives another…let’s say another few days, it’ll be fine.” Arthur was stiller than he should be given the prodding, but Charles tried to take heart from the words, that perhaps Arthur had a little bit more life in him.

-

Another few hours with no food and only the barest water left even Charles feeling sickly, his ribs incredibly sore and his own stomach nauseous from the riding in such an awkward fashion. Arthur had been sat up before Benny at some point, finally fully unconscious as he was held in place. His thoughts ran wild with thoughts of Arthur waking up, coming to his senses and pushing Benny off. Of somehow wheeling the horse around and breaking free from capture. But in the end, it wasn’t Arthur’s heroics that saved them from Jameson’s grasp. It was the law. The first sign was the hoofbeats thundering behind him, then the nocking of guns. Only then did the voice ring out.

“Where are you taking them?” The man’s voice was clear and self-righteous enough to be nothing but law. Charles could see three of them from his place thrown over the horse’s haunches, guns in hand but not yet raised. They’d turned around the bend in a rush, horses foaming at the mouth as the three pulled their horses to a halt. 

“Saint Denis. What’s it to you?” Jameson said, almost lazily into the rain.

“This is Annesburg jurisdiction, they are to be arrested and kept here- any movement outside of the state without proper permissions is a criminal offense.” The man looked young. Well-groomed and rigid as he called out his orders. Charles recognized the man to his right, it was the sharp-eyed sheriff that had followed them from Annesburg and started this whole ordeal.

“Why? They’ll be shipped out to Saint Denis anyway. If anything, we’re saving you the effort of taking care of them till Saint Denis orders them sent over. You try and hang them here you’re likely to get some court orders of your own, deputy,” Jameson said, calmly but somehow mocking.

“Doesn’t matter, law is law and they are to be kept in the Annesburg jail until safe passage is arranged for them. We can’t risk van der Linde’s associates being ferried across the state in the hands of some backwater outlaws.” Jameson spit on the ground in between the groups, rage clear on his face at that. “You’ll be paid the bounty we posted; no harm done. And we’ll let bygones be bygones despite the men you’ve moved out of this state already.”

“No.”

And just like that, the two sides were at war, Jameson drawing faster than Charles could blink. Faster even than Arthur maybe. But as Charles waited to see the young deputy taken down swiftly, it was the man behind him that fell to the ground, dead. From then, chaos erupted, a firefight breaking out right in the middle of the forest path that sent the chestnut mare skittering sideways in fear. He could only brace for impact as she reared up with a screech, dumping him backwards onto the hard ground. Even though the stamping hoofbeats and shell casings falling all around him he could only focus on getting enough air into his deprived lungs, wind knocked right out in the fall. In the back of his mind something screamed out, to find Arthur and somehow drag him away from this madness, but his body wouldn’t listen, and he could only gasp face down in the dirt as shouting filled the pathway.

It couldn’t have lasted more than a minute, no cover for either side to seek refuge behind. He’d heard an inhuman shriek that sounded like Rodrick and fearful cursing from Emilio. Benny had never said a word through it, but as Charles regained some of himself, he could see the still leg of the man on his left. Then silence.

“We killed bounty hunters. I never thought it would turn to that…” the voice rang out, clearly distressed and baffled, like something truly obscene had happened here. A sigh then from another man. At least two lawmen still lived.

“We had no choice; they were willing to risk it all to keep these men and you can see the indignity all over this scene.” Between his lightheaded stupor and the rawness of his ribs Charles couldn’t attempt to even struggle, but when an arm grabbed him around the chest and hefted up and into a seated position, it was oddly gentle. “Easy now.” The man was dressed in a sheriff’s uniform, mustached face all too familiar but Charles refused to acknowledge their new captors- they were prisoners still and he would not grovel. But in the new position Charles had regained some agency and whipped his head around, trying to find Arthur.

“Where is…?” Arthur was already seated a way off, the deputy at his side, stabilizing him much as the sheriff was for him. His eyes were closed, but Charles saw no new wounds on his ragged form.

“Don’t have any interest in hurting either of you boys more than necessary, but I’ll have no funny business.” And Charles hated himself for the gratefulness that he struggled to repress, at this man who’d broken through their dreams and began this whole hunt.

“You have the wrong men,” he tried, but even to his ears it sounded weak and the little grunted response showed just how little his words meant.

“I don’t think so. I really don’t. But come on, can you ride then?” Charles nodded, but he found that he couldn’t at least not without a lot of help from the older sheriff. He felt the gun barrel digging into his back as they began their journey anew, but it wasn’t painful and there was no jeering. So he risked it.

“Please, my… he’s real sick,” the plea was something born of desperation not faith in the men, but they stopped all the same, the younger man carefully unwrapping Arthur’s hand at Charles’s urging.

“How is it?”

“Not good, I think we’d better hurry up if we mean to keep him alive for them,” the younger said urgently, eyes fixed on the older man, avoiding Charles entirely. Charles felt faint as they set off again, towards Annesburg at a startling pace.

“You’re going to save him then?” he asked, bewildered.

“Not that he deserves it, but we’ll try our best,” the sheriff offered, and Charles dared to hope as the gun remained firm at his back, trees flying past to either side.

-

After their time under Jameson’s watch, the prison cell was almost comfortable, musty dirt floor and wet stones or not. It was cramped, three prisoners crammed into the same little cell but neither the sheriff nor the deputy were needlessly cruel. The lawmen nodded to each other victory once the lock fell shut but held true on their promise of medical attention and if the gaunt doctor thought the arrangement was odd he didn’t mention it, focusing in on Arthur’s wound with the same cautious care one would expect for any civilian. He had to take cut away some of the injured skin as well as the nail fragment, but after a whole litany of curses and an hour of stitching, the little stump of a finger was finally stitched closed and bandaged up properly. But even while Arthur was tied down and near blinded with pain, Charles noted that the older sheriff’s hand never moved from his gun, ready to spring into action at the slightest threat.

“What is it?” he dared finally as the doctor took a moments breath. The doctor looked back at him warily but finally backed down at what he saw across Charles face.

“Sepsis, from those wet bandages most likely- it’s not so rare around here in the wet months in pregnant woman and gunshot victims alike, especially when the health is already compromised.” Charles froze, that was how more than a few of his mother’s patients had died, raving and delirious. “Not the worst case I’ve seen mind you, I like his chances, his blood pressure has stabilized, and his urine is a better color than it could be.”

“And just what are those chances? The treatment?”

“Hmm,” the doctor considered the sleeping form with a little frown, “I don’t like giving out probabilities as there are always new developments in something as complex as the human body, but if you want something rough- sixty percent he’ll make it, maybe a little more. Like I said, it’s hardly the worst case I’ve seen.” He nodded back, grateful but afraid. Sixty percent. “As for treatment, there’s not so much we can do but wait and see.”

In the early hours of the morning when the doctor finally left, the sheriff offered Charles a bit of bread and thin broth, a single lantern left in the common area outside the cell.

“Thank you,” Charles said.

“Don’t thank me, if I get my way the two of you will be hanged before the year ends, I just don’t believe in torturing a man on the way out. Get some rest.”

-

The fever took days to break at all, two agonizing days of frequent visits by the doctor and countless bandages. Arthur didn’t even recognize him that first day in the jail when he finally woke, lost in the sickening heat. But late the second day, his eyes had fixed themselves on Charles’s face in recognition even if he was still too warm and pale for his liking. He’d smiled at him and tried to reach for his hand, looking down at the bandage in confusion when he failed to move the digits.

“I thought you were dying,” Charles said, sparing no pain in his words even as Arthur struggled to comprehend the situation, as if he had no control over his voice. Arthur just blinked up at him.

“I…” he cleared his throat of gravel, “I wasn’t sick that long was I?”

“You’ve been sick for days Arthur, you didn’t say a single sensical word for all that time,” he felt the tears threatening to break free, pointedly ignoring the angry glare that had been fixed on them this whole time, the other prisoner clearly sick of his constant concern and overt affection. Arthur was staring back at him in wonder, finally clear-eyed and entirely too guilty looking for Charles to stand. “It’s okay… I was just worried is all.”

“So we’re in Saint Denis then?”

“No, Annesburg. The same sheriff that shot you caught us and brought us back here and got you a doctor.”

“For my hand?” He said, staring at the bandage bitterly. Charles nodded.

“It got real bad the last couple days. Doctor said you got sepsis.”

“I could’ve killed all them bounty hunters if I’d used my right hand,” it was bitter and entirely egotistical, the words of a man with no doubt of his own skill. But the words were a sign that he remembered something, his mind not completely ravaged by the sickness that had fallen over him so quickly and completely.

“I think you’re shooting was fine, left hand or no- there were just too many of them and we only had one gun. Want to try eating something after all this time?” He reached for the soup, hoping Arthur would submit to it.

“Why? Ain’t they just gonna hang us anyways?” Charles glared down at him and Arthur offered an apologetic grin, the first smile he’d offered up in days and even through his bitterness, Charles couldn’t help the happiness that washed over him at the clear-eyed expression.

“Not just yet. Now you’re going to focus on getting better while being a good patient, for once.” Arthur learned into his hand that had somehow found its way to his bristly cheek.

“Yes sir,” Arthur said gently, smile turning more genuine, “but you’ll have to tell me what happened after we got caught, it’s all a bit blurry.” And so Charles did, speaking softly and taking joy in the simpleness of Arthur meeting his eyes as he helped him eat the thin broth. Charles finally fell asleep that night, next to Arthur on the thin canvas mat, exhaustion hitting him like a wave and pulling him under. They were captured and locked away and Arthur still shook with the lingering effects of his fever, but they’d both live another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only they could just collect goats all day without having to worry about the law. The sepsis wasn't planned at all, but then Arthur lost half a finger and went without proper medical treatment for days so it just made sense :(


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter had been the bane of my existence, but it's finally done!

In a town so small, long term prisoners weren’t a reality that could be supported, and their fellow resident Lawrence Martin was there just a few days before he was taken off to hang on the Annesburg gallows. When the executioners descended the stairs at an unnatural hour to collect their victim, they’d both been awake curled up together while Martin slumbered on fitfully across the cell. Arthur tried to subtly scoot backwards from Charles in a way that wouldn’t tip their guests off- they’d hardly been expecting men to file down the staircase into the basement cell before the crack of dawn. They’d shared a horrified look in the dim lantern light, uncertain if this was their last morning. But as Sheriff Dunn and his young deputy walked closer to the cell, it soon was apparent they hadn’t come for _them_.

“Isn’t there anything else we can do for him though, criminal or not… Never seen a man deluded like that, almost makes me think his crimes were-” deputy Bernard asked meekly.

The older man just shook his head and cut him off, “No. I don’t think there is son. Hanging him is the only mercy we can provide now after all the heinous things he did. We’ll give him a little morphine to lessen his pain if we can scrounge up a few more dollars.”

And just like that, Martin was gone, and they had the cell to themselves, no signs that the man had ever been there except the little scrapes on the stone wall by his pallet and a little contraband spoon hidden underneath. Arthur collected it that afternoon and continued the work, scraping at the wall with the sharpened tool. But the stone was thick, and each scrape of the cookware only loosened tiny puffs of dust. It did keep Arthur occupied though- he didn’t do well with sickness, injury, and as Charles was discovering, captivity.

His fever had broken over a week before, and his strength was returning, but there were some nights Arthur couldn’t keep the food down at all, whether from the lingering sickness or the stress of the situation Charles couldn’t tell. He could only offer up his own rations and hope Arthur wouldn’t notice in his weakened state. So far he hadn’t seemed to, but every grumble from Charles’s stomach sent a pang of fear through him that Arthur would catch on and refuse the broth. Sometimes the younger lawman would notice and pass him a little extra bread, but from the state of the little basement cell and the rusted pail deputy Bernard had graciously dragged down so they could keep themselves clean, Charles could tell this establishment had little money to speak of. Even the basement seemed more suited for storage than prisoners, and it was a wonder the iron bars were as strong as they were.

Their isolation didn’t last long though, and Arthur slept through most of it anyway. It was an especially cold day when they finally met the violent man who was pushed into their cell, yelling obscenities and fighting against his bonds like a rabid animal. He was rather slim with strands of blond hair that whipped around his face as he struggled, and even after he’d been locked up behind the grate, he continued his onslaught on the bars for a good fifteen minutes, goring his own hands in his rage. It was only then he offered a glance at Charles and Arthur. And just like that, the angered scowl of an expression settled into something milder, almost friendly.

“Gentlemen. Looks like we’re neighbors now.” But Charles didn’t miss the gaze set fixedly to Arthur, eyes never straying to him at all as blood dripped onto the floor between them.

-

His name was Micah Bell, and he was a rat. He’d tried to charm Arthur as he struggled to recover from his illness, butting in to give him some of his rations or offering friendly words of encouragements. Even more aggravating was Arthur’s easy acceptance of the gifts, if not reciprocation of the pleasantries.

“You seem a man down on his luck and I’m nothing if not generous,” Micah said as he handed Arthur the crust off some bread, and Charles needed all his willpower to not swipe that bread right onto the floor. He had a feeling a man like Micah wasn’t one to share freely, and with each little fragment of kindness, he feared there’d be a price. Or maybe he was wrong, bitter and jealous from days trapped with the man in such close quarters as Arthur struggled to even sit up or utter more than a few words. Micah didn’t talk to Charles at all, hardly even acknowledging him with more than a curl of the lip or heated glare. Even more aggravating was the distance he forced himself to keep with Arthur, every brush of his hand or companionable touch dangerous under the watchful man’s gaze.

“He’s trying to sleep,” Charles said sternly one day after catching Micah trying to engage the man as his eyelids threatened to fall shut.

“Think a grown man can decide for himself, don’t you?” Micah asked with a snarl.

“What I think is he’s sick and you’re pestering him,” Charles responded. And while Micah had backed up under his threatening gaze, it was clear that there would be no peace between them.

At least Charles could be smug in just how little Arthur cared about Micah one way of the other, hardly sparing a glance for the man once he was able to walk and eat on his own. But bizarrely, it still seemed like the man was trying to compete for Arthur’s attention as the days went on- unceremoniously drawing himself into their conversations and laughing at Arthur’s jokes before jumping into loosely related tirades of his own. But time did pass, no news about their fate but a steady stream of bland food and water kept them just alert enough to function. 

“You said you two were out north when you were picked up?” Micah asked nosily.

“A little bit,” Arthur didn’t refute the information regardless of how wrong it was and Charles breathed a sigh of relief, “why?”

“No reason, I’m just bored here and ready to hear some adventures from my only two companions.” But for all the prodding, Arthur didn’t offer much up and Charles didn’t even spare a glance for the man even as he told wild stories of his own capture- a daring assault on a cattle ranch in the hopes of stealing the families oil fortune.

-

Micah was sulking in the corner as Arthur drew rough outlines of Copper in various states of action with the wooden spoon. Copper jumping, with a stick in her jaws, or Charles favorite- Copper with reindeer antlers. Arthur had been pushing to use his hand more and more over the last few days, intentionally choosing it to eat, to flatten his hair down with their limited wash water, and now to draw. “Tryin’ to train the damn thing to work better,” he’d said in defense when caught squatting on the ground.

“What’s wrong with her head?” Charles asked, squinting down at the growths extending from her ears.

“She’s a reindeer. For Christmas. It’s not my fault my hand’s fucked up and she’s wobbly,” he didn’t seem too discouraged to stop though, as he shook his hand weakly, a little pained grimace clouded his face.

“Are reindeer Christmas animals?” He’d never been one to celebrate and hadn’t even considered the fact Arthur might.

“I guess. You’d better enjoy it though, that’s your only gift.” Charles wasn’t upset as he considered the little scribble, if only the image could have been captured on paper and not roughly scrawled out on a prison floor. But such was life. If they survived this current plight, he’d get Arthur a gift. Maybe real art supplies or a new leather-bound book. He was startled from his thoughts by a nosy inquiry.

“What are you two talking about over there? Christmas?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said somewhat dejectedly, “I reckon it’s getting’ on towards it anyway, in a couple weeks or so.” He stretched out his arm again, clearly right up against his limit for the day.

“You think they’ll bring some booze down here on the big day? If we’re on our best behavior like the good little prisoners we are?”

“Those lawmen? I’d say no.” Arthur answered with a bitter chuckle and Charles had to agree, they seemed decent enough, willing to feed them and provide medical service but actual celebrations in their cellar seemed unlikely. “I wish.”

“Me too,” Micah took that as an invitation to saunter over to their side of the cell, feet dancing along the edge of the drawings, evoking little clouds of dust around them he sat down heavily right beside Arthur. “Oh, what’s that?” Micah laughed down at the dirt and Charles saw Arthur’s telltale signs of embarrassment- the fidgeting and averted eyes. “You sure you’re in the right place Morgan? This is a jail meant to contain the worst killers and thieves.” he said, looking over the smudged drawings.

“I'd bet this jail sees more town drunks and brawlers than actual criminals if I’m being honest,” Arthur began, and Charles wondered again what Micah had done to end up here if he’d categorize himself as the ‘worst.’ “Drawings ain’t much but I’m just about bored to insanity. The last guy started bashin’ his head into the wall by the end and for the first time, I’m starting to see the appeal.”

“Some men are just weak willed I guess,” Arthur grimaced at that as Micah continued, “do I get a Christmas gift too? I was thinking you could draw me a nice girl after being stuck in here with nothing but men for so long, it’s enough to drive anyone mad.” 

“You could bash _your_ head into the wall maybe?” Arthur proposed. But after a tense moment of silence, Arthur nodded with a shrug, “sure, why not?” He got to work after that as Micah droned on about his last Christmas on the road, mindless stories to pass the time but Charles was more interested to see the woman come to life though, as Arthur seemed to put particular attention to the hair gracefully wrapped around her shoulders, much too nice a drawing to commit to dirt and flickering lantern light. He wondered if that was Mary, or someone else Arthur knew from his past but didn’t want to intrude by asking.

“I appreciate the exquisite attention to detail Morgan, truly, but I think you’re missing the most important part,” Micah said with a little laugh as he looked down at the drawing. Arthur just considered him with a little frown, contraband spoon wedged up against his bandages in a somewhat concerning manner.

“You sayin’ you want tits then?” Micah patted him on the shoulder with another bark of laughter.

“Thought that was a given when I said ‘girl’.”

“Well, my hand’s kinda crampin’ up, so this’ll have to do,” Arthur said, drawing two wobbly circles right under her face with a laugh. “There, you pervert.”

“Aww, you ruined it.”

“Maybe I was worried if I put too much care into ‘em, you’d do somethin’ weird...” but Arthur didn’t sound entirely unamused.

“Weird?” Micah asked incredulously, “you telling me not to get myself off all over your mud art?”

“Somethin’ like that. Think I’d ask the sheriff to push my execution date up if I had to witness that.” Charles stewed as the two of them continued for another hour, pointedly looking away from the conversation as they recounted Christmas experiences and talked nonsense. Against all his instincts, Charles brought up his dislike of the man later that night as Micah snored away.

“You don’t like him, I get that. But I can’t just ignore the man if he talks to me.”

“He’s full of shit,” Arthur looked surprised by the blunt statement and Charles felt himself flush a little at the pettiness.

“Never said he wasn’t. I don’t really care for him either, to be honest. I’m just bored is all.” Charles tried to not take that personally as Arthur struggled to clarify, “and he’s just pushy so sometimes it’s easier to just go along with it.”

“Okay.”

-

But from then on, Arthur seemed to distance himself from Micah more and Charles was caught between guilt and relief. Each day was much like the previous, the nights getting colder and colder, especially isolated as they all were- one man per corner. Unfortunately, it only took a couple days of spurned gestures of friendship for the trouble to begin, Micah settling right next to Arthur where he sat up against the back wall of the cell.

“Can I sit here Morgan?”

“It’s a free country,” Arthur said with a shrug.

“That it is,” Micah replied, sighing as he leaned back into the wall, “but I can’t help but notice something afoot here. Can’t help but thinking you have it out for me now.” The friendly lilt to his voice was waning and Charles prepared for the fallout that was his own doing, with his complaints over the man and Arthur’s willingness to reject him.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Arthur answered with a sigh, “we’re all just tryin’ to get by in here.”

“You know what I think?” Micah asked Arthur as Charles lay rigidly on his pallet. He could see slight movement up there through the floorboards.

“What?” Arthur asked. Charles couldn’t hear what Micah thought, only a low whisper, much too low for him to make out. But he did hear the ensuing anger as Arthur nosily struggled backwards with a curse.

“The fuck you say to me?” Charles sat up and turned to the display in concern at the hysteria in Arthur’s voice. Arthur had stumbled back from Micah, threatening words not quite matching the distraught look across his face. And when Micah patted Arthur’s leg as a man would a dog, Arthur’s gaze turned murderous and he launched himself right into the man.

But Arthur was weak and out of practice, and as soon as he landed his first blow to Micah’s face, the tables were quickly turned. Micah’s arm flew to Arthur’s shoulder to hold him back as he twisted his legs to flip the heavier man right onto his back with a snarl, coming out on top with only a slightly bloodied nose to show for the struggle. He looked wildly proud of himself though as he pinned Arthur to the ground with a knee to the gut.

“That was almost too easy, boy. Embarrassing,” he laughed down at Arthur, and despite the murder in his eyes, Arthur could only struggle weakly beneath the mocking weight. But whatever this was, Charles wasn’t about to allow Arthur to be held down for one moment longer.

“Get off him!” he shouted as he scrambled over to help dislodge him. Micah had the presence to at least look afraid as Charles approached, little smirking grin falling from his face. Nor could he pull back fast enough to avoid the hard kick to the ribs, immediately falling over with a shout then gasping for air on the ground beside Arthur.

“Fuck…” he wheezed, trying to get a lungful of air and coming up short and flailing about like a drowning man. Charles backed down now that the danger had passed but didn’t bother stopped Arthur from giving the man a final kick of his own. Then footsteps boomed out from above, little dusty particles raining down on them all as the lawmen rushed to the scene of the fight. Arthur looked fine if shaken up and Charles helped him up, but his eyes were fixed on Micah with something past hatred, and Charles wondered what the man could have said to cause it.

“Lighten up, I was just joking with you. We’re allies!” Micah said while pushing his greasy blond hair behind his ears with one hand and wiping his bloody nose with the other, finally able to breathe again. He tried to keep the words light and casual, but Charles didn’t miss the cringing and painful tilt of his head.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur growled.

“Means we robbed that train together right and proper- killed all those folks as brothers. Least as far as these dimwits believe.” He chuckled at Arthur’s rough intake of breath.

“You’re with Dutch?” It wasn’t a question.

“Course I am Morgan, why else you think they’ve be watching me so close. Knew it was you soon as I saw you hanging off everything your _friend_ says like a lovesick girl.”

“What the fuck-” Charles held him back but even injured as Arthur was, it was a struggle.

“I heard lots of stories about you turning traitor with the sniveling john you betrayed Dutch for- it’s all those folks talk about. ’I wonder where Arthur is,’ ‘I bet Arthur’s dead in the woods after getting turned on him for the money.’ They do go on.” And despite his more severe injuries, Micah looked victorious as the lawmen finally made it down the stairs.

Charles put his arms up with a frown when sheriff turned to him, trying to give off his most innocent look. Arthur just glared; arms crossed over his chest in a stance that spoke more of defiance than innocence and for a moment Charles thought he’d lunge out at Micah again, company or not.

“What’s going on here?” Sheriff Dunn asked, exasperated as he looked between the men in suspicion. But despite the bloody nose and bruised ribs, Micah gave them both a wary look before complying.

“Nothing officer, just blowing off steam.”

“Sounded like something to me Bell.” The two lawmen considered the scene, whispering to themselves a while before making the call aloud.

“Best clear out the other cell- they’ve all got that look about them and I’d prefer not sending three corpses to Saint Denis when the time comes.”

It took near an hour for the deputy to clear out the only other adjacent cell of old furniture and other random detritus as Sheriff Dunn watched the little group for any signs of another fight. “Problem in the ranks then?” None of them replied and Charles let out a sigh of relief when Micah was finally grabbed and shoved into the other cell unceremoniously.

“They just decided to attack me is all, mad that I was disrupting their alone time, if you know what I mean,” Micah said the moment he was outside of range of any more violence.

“I don’t care who started it, only that it’s done. If I hear shouting down here again, there will be consequences, you hear me Bell?”

“Course. Not a word out of me.” But the second after the two men filed out of the basement, Arthur was on the attack again, not quite yelling, but not particularly quiet either.

“Why the fuck would Dutch want someone like you? To take the fall maybe?” Arthur snarled over at him, armed crossed over his chest as he glared over at the man.

“He made me second in command actually,” Micah bragged, arms threaded through the bars causally as blood continued to trickle down into his mustache.

“So what? You’re Dutch’s dog now, nothin’ to brag about. And just for the record, it’s not like Williamson was up to the job anyway between all the drinkin’ and lazin’ about.”

“Bet you miss _him_ an awful bit,” Micah mocked back. The rest of the conversation and the next few day were about as productive, the two men arguing over Dutch and their crimes, and every other subject they could reach, Arthur seemingly fixated on the man in a way he never was before.

"You sure have a lot to say for a guy who pestered me for attention like an annoyin' child for days on end."

"Don't flatter yourself, I was just tryin' to weed out the money you stole."

"Well you did a goddamn awful job of it."

The fighting usually continued until one of officers stomped on the floor or filed down the steps, even Micah unwilling to let anything concerning Dutch slip in front of law. And for the first time in his life, Charles appreciated any hours spent under the watchful eyes of the two lawmen simply for the peace their surveillance provided.

“I’ll kill that guy if we have to travel to Saint Denis with him, I swear to god. With my goddamn spoon, if I have to,” Arthur murmured form his little bundle, eyes narrowed directly at Micah as they had been all day. He wasn’t done either, “I feel like I’m goin’ mad…”

“I’d like to see that, but maybe just ignore him till then,” Charles pleaded, tired and approaching annoyance at his partner. 

“He’s right to be worried about me, I’ll leave it at that,” Arthur hissed, and Charles felt the sheriff glance over at them as Arthur turned over to face the wall. As things turned out though, they only had to deal with Micah Bell for two more days before the jailbreak.

-

Charles was startled awake by an earthquake, seeking out Arthur in the dark as his confusion spiked. But while stones thundered down into the basement from above, they were all on Micah’s side, not theirs. It took a few moments of clearing dust and wild thoughts before he even realized what had happened. Someone had busted open the wall with dynamite? Some sort of machinery? Charles couldn’t tell from his position, could only watch as young stranger’s head popped down into Micah’s cell from above.

“Javier!” Micah greeted him merrily, hooting appreciably at the heaps of broken wall and ceiling. “Could have killed me but I suppose I can’t complain as freedom shines down on me from above. You’re crazy!” It sounded like praise.

“Had no choice. Just be quiet and let’s go- Dutch’s expecting us back.”

“Quiet? Think the whole state heard you.”

Arthur stared at the men as if drowning and Charles was half convinced, he would yell over to them, but he never did and when Micah looked back at them after being hoisted up to the hole near the ceiling, it was a look of pure delight and mockery. There was shouting from above, but by the time the lawmen descended, the prisoner and his savior were long gone, leaving behind nothing but rubble and dust and two terribly angry lawmen. But after a few hours of pacing and general awkward questions, the damages were sealed off with a large sheet of canvas, the furniture loaded back into the debris filled cell. Charles couldn’t decide if he felt more bitter that Micah was freed as they continued to rot or just happy to finally be rid of the man.

-

Unfortunately, after the escape they were watched with a lot more scrutiny, as if another escape plot was brewing right under their noses. If only that was the case- the only progress Arthur had made on his wall was a one-centimeter gash in the stone, no bigger than his thumb. Today it was the younger one, Deputy Bernard, standing at attention in the corner of the room like a soldier. Charles preferred the older sheriff’s watch as the man usually just read a weathered book in the corner with little thought to the prisoners at all. But the younger one took his job seriously, watching over the two men sit against a wall as if it was a matter of national security. Arthur had been fidgeting for maybe an hour and Charles could see he was growing impatient. What he hadn’t expected was the sudden onslaught.

“Keep havin’ nightmares,” Arthur started suddenly, louder than usual, starling Charles away from his mindless thoughts. “Not sure what to do... I just wanna go back to Texas and put all dreams dumb mountain dreams to rest.”

Charles had no idea what he was talking about as Arthur threw a look over to the young deputy and floundered on for a few more minutes about cattle and something about his ‘daddy’s land,’ working himself up into a mess. He finally just flung himself into Charles’s arms.

“I just miss her so much Joshua, my Lizzie. We’d be married now if not for this, what’s she going to say about me gettin’ arrested? It’s not like I have any sort of explanation for it anyway, I’m about as confused as possible.” Charles awkwardly gave Arthur a pat on the shoulder as the deputy snuck a glance at them, clearly uncomfortable as he as but cried into his shoulder. A sudden bite to his shoulder blade startled him into action.

“Ow, what?” he hissed under his breath, more from surprise than pain, fearing Arthur had finally snapped. 

“Play along.”

“With what? What are you even doing?”

“Settin’ the stage, just talk about somethin’ wholesome. I don’t know- the miracle of Jesus or something.”

“I don’t think-”

“I’m just confused is all,” Arthur spoke up, “I thought this land was just, came here to be safe and protected, but… I don’t know. Do you think I should write to a Senator Appleton, have them order a release? I don’t know, Lizzie could send some documents to prove I ain’t all this. And why are you even here? Makes no sense.”

Charles allowed the hug despite their audience, focusing more on holding him steady than listening to whatever he was saying. Arthur collapsed back towards him with a sigh.

“You really think you can trick him with that nonsense?” he whispered, confused, “he’s hardly an-”

“Course not, he can’t be that dumb. I just wanted to pass the time… and be near you. Why do they need to watch us like that? We ain’t gettin’ out with a spoon.” Charles didn’t have an answer, and could only look down at Arthur’s face, eyes ringed with purple and shoulders slumped in defeat.

“I’m really tired,” Arthur admitted in a whisper at the appraisal. “Should have known there was no escapin’ this life.” Charles pulled him closer and let him rest his battered head against his shoulder, held his hand where it was hidden between them. “And I’m sorry for bein’ an ass all that time with Micah when I should’ve just ignored him like you said.”

Deputy Bernard met Charles’s eyes only once after that, but he averted them in embarrassment as Charles dared him to interfere with a glare.

-

“Mr. Morgan, do you think-” the young deputy asked one day, gruel in hand- addressing Arthur directly for the first time. It’d been almost three weeks since Martin’s execution and the acquisition of the spoon according to Arthur’s little tally marks in the stone, three weeks that felt like ten.

“That’s not my name,” Arthur said, and the man’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“No?”

“You heard me, it ain’t my name. I ain’t even from here, but now it seems like every man in the state’s tryin’ to tell me who I am.”

“We have pictures to prove it!”

“You’ve seen photographs? Of me?”

“Well, your poster at least.”

“Can I see it then? I’ve been here for days and I’m not holdin’ well with the gruel, all you fightin’ over us like a couple a lamb chops- men died for it out there! You really that interested in a cattle rancher like me deputy?” The deputy spluttered and took a step back from where Arthur had approached, arm threading through the bars.

“I don’t have it with me.”

“And you can’t get it?” Arthur was pushing too hard.

“I don’t have to do anything for you, you’re our prisoner here- not in a position to demand anything! From the corpses that keep getting dragged into town, you killed at least two other lawmen from Van Horn.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that and I’m sorry for your friends. Those men were shot up by them bounty hunters, not us- goin’ on and on about takin’ us to Saint Dennis and livin’ it up on their take while mockin’ all the men they killed.” The man hesitated a moment, clearly uncomfortable and suspicious. “Just… if you were to bring the poster here, I could better understand what I’m even being accused of. If we were with that Bell fellow, don’t you think they’d have busted us out too?”

“I don’t know… you tell me,” Charles eyes widened at the sheepish look on the deputy’s face, he was actually considering Arthur’s request. “I’d have to talk to the sheriff, and well. I don’t think it’ll change anything- he was sure it was you and he’s an honest man. Said you shot at him.”

“Only after he did! And what about you, don’t you want to confirm it yourself?”

“I’ve got his back.”

“Course you do, just tryin’ to understand why I’m here and what your gonna do with me. Him too? What’s the charge for Joshua?”

“Aiding and abetting a known murderer.” Arthur leveled him with a look.

“Okay then? How’d he do that- hold my victims down while I stabbed them to death? This is madness.” Charles cringed at the surprised expression plastered on the deputy’s face.

“That’s horrific! I’m here to feed you and nothing more.” The outburst completely transformed his meek face into something fierce.

“Sorry, bad joke…” Arthur put his arms up in surrender and backed up to join Charles by the back wall with a defeated sigh. The deputy turned on his heels, considering them both. “I’ll talk to Sherriff Dunn about your request, but I guarantee nothing.” And with that he turned and left alone with their gruel. Arthur started pacing at a stumbling pace, a wobbly look to his gait.

“I can’t take this Charles, wish they’d do something with us. Let us go, send us somewhere, hang us if that’s what they need.”

“Arthur,” he said, approaching carefully as Arthur paced right across all the little drawings he’d meticulously created earlier.

“What do they want? We can’t do nothin’ with types like that- sticks up their asses, both of them.” Part of Charles was still glad the men weren’t beating them, torturing them for information or otherwise abusing their power but he kept his mouth shut in the face of Arthur’s agitation. He resembled some caged mountain cat, looping endlessly in frustration. “Can’t hardly bribe ‘em. Or fuck ‘em- can you imagine? That choir boy in bed?” Arthur laughed, face mean and hard.

“Arthur!” he hissed quietly, “stop.” He did. “We’ll get through this, just keep up whatever all that was, and we’ll bide our time- maybe he’ll let his guard down eventually and we can move. They have to take us out of here someday, we’ll just get ready for when they do, okay?”

But Arthur seemed to remember himself though as Charles stabilized him with hands on his shoulders, eyes falling to the ground between them, “I’ll try. I’m just angry I guess, I thought we were out. Thought we’d just live with Hamish up there like an idiot and we’re stuck here.”

“I know… maybe we can someday. Let me look at your hand.” Arthur submitted to his request, finally sitting down and offering the limb to him. The swelling was still awful, but no worse than before.

“Why we gotta take the fall for Dutch is all? I done plenty wrong in my life, but the job to finally do it is some goddamn train plot we weren’t even part of.” Charles didn’t have an answer to that.

-

Luckily Arthur did seem to take Charles words to heart and seemed somewhat more relaxed for it. Deputy Bernard was Arthur’s newest project and Charles still couldn’t tell if Arthur genuinely thought he could trick or otherwise convince the man into freeing them or if messing with him was just a way to pass the time. It certainly was more entertaining to watch than Micah had been. Between that and their time alone talking quietly, they’d finally settled into something of not pleasant, at least manageable.

Charles wasn’t sure the occasion, but each evening they had a guest now- as if any plot would be carried out right at the sun finally sunk in the sky. But regardless of the reasoning, Arthur seemed completely set on snuggling up to him right in front of the deputy now.

“You don’t have to stand there if you’re gonna pass out- you look like _you’re_ the one being filed off to the gallows, deputy,” Arthur taunted as Charles simply enjoyed the warmth as evening brought about the typical icy chill of winter.

“I’m just doing my job.”

“If you say so.” Arthur continued talking about all manner of subjects, jumping from one thread to the next as Charles humored him, offering his own opinions on mule deer and then candle making. It didn’t really matter; it was nice to just sit there without the strain of Micah or Dutch clouding the room.

“From the way you’re talking, you’ve been friends a lot longer than a couple weeks. Can you blame me for doubting your story when you do something so overt right in front of me?” Bernard butted in suddenly, clearly uncomfortable as Arthur moved to rest his head on Charles’s shoulder, a little act of resistance that Charles didn’t care to stop. He was either looking for a fight or planning another yarn and Charles wondered which. Standards of entertainment were different in here.

“I’m like this with everyone,” Arthur replied with a wink. What Charles wasn’t ready for was the flush covering every inch of deputy Bernard’s face, and the step backwards. 

“Um…”

“I’m just messin’ with you, but so what? I lied about a couple details- don’t mean my story ain’t mostly true. Lizzie ain’t my fiancé is all, she’s Joshua’s sister and we were all gonna live together up there to keep it hidden. Least until she grew sick of us and left for something more glamorous.” It was a gamble, and a paranoid part of Charles expected the deputy to immediately run off to write the additional crime on whatever literature he had on them both. ‘Sodomy.’ But as Arthur continued with his modified story, the deputy seemed just as curious as he was scandalized.

“I knew you were lying, you were really laying it on thick.” Arthur gave an offended little grunt into his shoulder.

“If I didn’t have such an unfortunate face, we’d never have been picked up at all.”

“It’s …obscene.”

“Is it? Seems rather normal to me- just livin’ our lives out peacefully as any other couple, raising some goats maybe, plantin’ some crops and hopin’ for good weather.” Arthur said mildly, as if he wasn’t confessing to a crime punishable by death. Their guest was just as stunned as Charles.

“And you’ll just admit to that?”

“Already did, don’t see the problem. It’s hardly so odd a thing, is it?”

Bernard spluttered, “how would I know?”

Arthur shrugged, “I just never really understood what was so wrong about it. There’s nothin’ so different between us and the rest of the random folks, gettin’ hitched and screwin' around. ‘Cept for the babies of course, we never had any of those.”

-

“Trust me, he’s an invert.” Arthur said as they watched the man high tail his way out of the room rigidly later that evening.

“Is that why you were flirting with him?”

“What? No I weren’t,” Arthur said defensively, but Charles just leveled I’m with a look that he hoped conveyed as much skepticism as he felt.

“I don’t care that you were, maybe it’s even the right move but we both know what you were doing. I’m not dense.” Arthur had the presence to look embarrassed and guilty at that, refusing to meet him eyes at all. Charles couldn’t help reaching over and raising his chin, holding back a grin at his coloring cheeks.

“It’s not like I’m interested in him,” Arthur said in awkward confession and Charles smirked at him as he flailed about.

“I never said you were _interested_ , just pointed out your flirting.”

“… Sorry, I really didn’t mean it like that Charles. I was just thinkin’ maybe I could weaken his defenses a little with it.”

“In other words, you want to seduce him into freeing us then running off. Like to that lady back in, where was it again?” But Arthur relaxed a little as Charles shifted his hands down his shoulders, easing the tension there with soothing circles.

“I weren’t the only one he was makin’ eyes at, you know?” Arthur finally said.

“What?” Charles asked with a laugh, “He hasn’t said a word to me since those first days.”

“Never said he wanted to talk with you, just that he’s hardly been subtle in his ogling.” Charles wracked his brain, trying to find even the smallest slimmer of evidence for that statement, half certain Arthur was just trying to flatter him into forgiveness. Not that he needed it, Bernard was hardly Micah and Arthur could talk him up to his heart’s desire if there was any chance of escaping for it. Arthur must have taken his silence for concern though, patting him on the leg sympathetically. “Don’t worry though, he’ll never act on it. Not without an unholy amount of whisky anyway, and somehow I doubt he’s the drinkin’ type. He’s more than just the typical, god fearin’ repressed invert. He’s a god fearing repressed, morally just Deputy Invert.”

“Don’t let them hear you, insulting him like that.”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way… I’m just tryin’ to say, he may be sympathetic to our imagined plight, and somewhat receptive to my supposed flirtin’ but he won’t be askin’ for anything on his own. Maybe we should offer to let him watch though? Then he’d owe us.” Charles froze, staring at him in surprise.

“I’m just messin’ with you.” Arthur laughed it off, but Charles couldn’t miss the little embarrassed flush.

“You aren’t though! You actually want to…”

Arthur just glared at his expression with a shake of his head, “No, I _really_ don’t. Just cause it sounds kind of fun don’t actually mean I want to do it. That’s how I got to weird places in the past… now I just want to raise goats with you like a wholesome puritanical couple. Kinda. Don’t tell me you don’t have any weird fantasies?”

He just grinned back, “maybe I do.” But he made no move to elaborate.

“Fine. If you wanna be secretive, you’ll only miss out.” Arthur said, leaning closer to him. “We could have been great teachers though, walk him through everything. ‘Oh golly, it goes where? That can’t possibly be right misters.’” Arthur said in a truly terrible impression and Charles groaned in pain.

“You know, _Lizzie_ is a very unlucky lady- having to marry you.”

“Clearly. I’m fuckin’ around with her brother.”

“Yeah…” he trailed off, “ideally”. He was the one to finally wretch Arthur towards him, but he couldn’t take credit for the filthy kiss that Arthur dragged him into, relying on Charles to keep him steady as his hands flew to his own belt.

“Let me,” he said against Arthur’s lips, his own fingers pulling his bandaged hand away gently before prying the buttons open with barely contained impatience. Arthur hardly made it easy for him, moving around as he was, all but pushing up into his hip and crushing his hands between them.

“And if they come down here?” Charles asked, voice rough from the onslaught.

“Thought we just established that I really don’t care. But I get it if you don’t-” Charles huffed out a little laugh into his neck, finding himself suddenly caring just as little as he hurried divest Arthur of his jeans entirely before pulling him right onto his lap. It’d been weeks since they’d been like this, Arthur thighs snug around his own as Charles dragged the man into another deep kiss, fingers with a tight hold of his hair, longer now.

“Alright,” he replied with a grin, finally free to look at the sight before him- Arthur half naked and flushed above him.

“Fuck,” Arthur groaned as Charles finally got his hand on them both after shoving his clumsy left hand away again. Arthur submitted easily after that, little jerks of his hips as Charles finally touched him.

“Are you?” but Charles didn’t have to finish, he could taste the salt on Arthur’s lips, the wetness of his cheeks against him.

“No. Please Charles, just don’t stop.”

-

Three days later, they came to take Arthur away from him. Deputy Bernard seemed apologetic when he first came to the cell door.

“Mr. Morgan.”

“Not this again,” Arthur begun but was quickly cut off, any of the meekness of the earlier days gone from the deputy, if not the awkwardness.

“They’ll be here to take you to Saint Denis in a few minutes, now that you’re well enough to survive the road, they need some information from you there. I’m awfully sorry for any distress on the off chance you’re speaking true, but I have no more power over your case and quite frankly, I don’t believe a word of it. Now, please stick your hands through the bars then go sit by the wall back there.” Arthur was frozen in place, Charles’s heart beginning to beat out of his chest. Arthur finally extended his shaking hands though the bars, and Deputy Bernard stepped forward with the shackles.

“Alright deputy, I understand,” Arthur forced out, voice low and quivering. Bernard looked back hesitantly, uncomfortably reaching towards the offered-up his wrists, unearthed finger crooked and scarred. As it would always be, Charles thought, detached from the situation, mind floating above them. They were going to take Arthur away from him. Again.

“I really hope I’m wrong and you find a way…”

But Bernard was cut off as Arthur jerked forward and grabbed his arm, slamming the man face first into the bars with all his strength. Charles returned to his body immediately, running forward to help him as the deputy cursed and tried futilely to escape the firm grasp.

But Arthur pulled the arm as far as it went and yanked it to the side, snapping the limb messily, uncaring of the panicked screaming bursting out around them while Charles grabbed the keys from his belt. He tried to ignore the betrayed gaze of the man slumped to the ground in a sobbing heap and he couldn’t help but feel a stab of guilt. Arthur was stone faced though, as he reached through again to drag the limp form closer, in search of his gun.

Charles struggled to open the grate at such an odd angle but with a little meddling and unlikely contortion, they were out- just one more man between them and the surrounding woods. Charles turned to hurry Arthur along, but found him frozen and staring down at the limp form below them, gun leveled.

“Sorry deputy, you’re more decent than you have any right to be, but I have no choice.” But Arthur hesitated anyway, eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at the mess they’d made of the man. Then he suddenly lowered the gun with a curse as he fled after Charles.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Sheriff Dunn shouted as he kicked the door open, eyes panicked as the pained noises below tricked away. Arthur hunkered back against the doorframe, just out of sight of the sheriff and Charles felt himself pulled into a brief, one armed hug.

“Sorry, I’m wastin’ time again,” Arthur said gravely, “I just… never mind.” And with that, his eyes were fixed ahead of them, gun raised in defense.

“Stand back, hands up and nobody needs to die!” Arthur yelled as he crept out from cover, barrel lining up with Dunn as quickly as ever as Charles stood just feet behind, wishing for another weapon. But what neither of them had foreseen was how quickly and quietly Bernard would rise from his pitiful bloody heap, and somehow creep up the stairs without tipping them off. Charles felt a body behind him and was yanked back into the barrel of another gun, cold metal resting at his nape.

“That’s my line!” Bernard said in his ear, voice contorted into something vicious. But as Arthur whipped his head around in surprise, the sheriff took the distraction as an opportunity to aim his own gun at Arthur. They all stared at each other down from their standoff- two guns for their one. 

“Shit! Let him go and I’ll go with you. Joshua weren’t even part of this- I swear to god.” Arthur said shakily, the odds clear to every man in the room.

“That’s not how this works!” the older man yelled back.

“Do it now or I open fire, don’t care if I fuckin’ die, I’ll take you all with me.” The two lawmen exchanged glances, hesitating at Arthur’s wild disregard for his own safety. Charles tried to avoid panicking the moment Arthur made his decision, eyes locking onto his own face with an apologetic smile before flying over to the sheriff. But Bernard saw it too and shouted out.

“Fine! We agree, we agree.”

“No-” Sheriff Dunn began, but as his eyes scanned the other men, something broke there and he gave a curt nod along with his murderous glare. “Fine.” 

Charles felt a rough kick behind his knee and could only let himself get led towards the window, step by step. He tried to struggle a bit to the side to give Arthur a good shot, but the man was surprisingly nimble, and his slight frame made a small target. When he got there, he unlatched the window with one hand, still holding the gun level with the other.

“Out you go,” Bernard hissed, but as Charles was shoved unceremoniously off the windowsill, he grabbed onto the broken arm, and pulled Bernard down with him. They fell the short distance together in an unceremonious tangle of limbs, Charles hitting the dirt first, over a hundred pounds of weight slamming down on him as he heard all hell break loose above- Arthur hadn’t surrendered any more than he had.

Charles’s lungs were empty and bruised, but even so, he sought to tear the gun away from the younger man beside him as he cried out pain after landing directly onto his ruined arm. But despite his prior bravery, Bernard’s eyes had the look a deer frozen and he shouted out in fear as Charles wrestled him to the ground, hands clutching the revolver’s barrel even as the lawman tried to line up a shot. He finally took one, but the bullet flew past Charles uselessly, the only damage a slight burning to his palms. And with a final punch to the face, Charles tore the gun free.

They stared at each other from the mud as more gunshots went off above and new voices joined the struggle. He could hear more horse hooves thudding against the earth now and the shouts of their riders. Bernard took the momentary distraction to lunge for the gun again, but Charles was faster, pulling the trigger more in instinct than intent.

From that grisly sight, he could only stagger unsteadily to his feet, swaying as he made his way along the back of the structure. While he couldn’t see much, the sheer number of boot falls paired with a silencing of arms told him all he needed to know. They had Arthur- whether alive of dead, he had no idea.

He crept to the edge of building and peaked around the worn-down wood just in time to see them loading Arthur into the metal carriage none too gently, wrists and ankles bound with pounds of metal, hood over his head. It was the Sheriff Dunn who made his way towards Charles hiding place, uncaring of Arthur as he sought out his colleague. Charles should have shot the man before he could see the ruin Charles had laid on Bernard, but he was too slow and the older man’s vision immediately fell to the corpse behind him.

“You killed my nephew,” he said it softly, conversationally as he stared between the two of them in shock. “He was the best of us, and you killed him like a dog.” And then suddenly, as if a switch had been slipped, the man transformed from meek to enraged, spittle bursting from his mustached mouth as he began raging and screaming at Charles. Charles hesitated, at the mercy of the agonizing rage for a second, but as he saw the gleaming barrel flying towards him, he raised his own and pulled the trigger in desperation, hoping it’d land somewhere vital.

And it did, a spurt of blood erupting from his neck before he crashed to the mud at Charles’s feet, not ten yards away from Bernard. Just in time for more men crowded around that corner with guns drawn, direct witnesses to his crimes. Under their barked orders and angry faces Charles could only throw his gun down into the mud alongside the bodies- Arthur was alive and in that carriage. He was again detached from the moment, feeling more curiosity than dread as he waited to see himself shot, waited for the sting of the bullets. But he never did. He was pushed forward to join Arthur.

“Charles? Is that you?” The voice was half hopeful, half devastated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two need to hurry up and escape already, it's getting real embarrassing for outlaws such as themselves to fail so horribly.   
> This was kind of a transition chapter, more here to get them from point A to point B than anything, but at least I can move on to other plot stuff I'm more excited about now!
> 
> Also, why do I feel a little guilty for killing a random OC? I do not know.


	19. Chapter 19

One lawman’s forehead was still red and swollen after a head butt that no doubt left Arthur’s own head ringing. But as it would for a horse or bird, the black hood seemed to suck the energy and voice right out of him after just a few minutes of darkness. Charles was free from that treatment, but his shackles were plenty tight, and he was held with a certain cautious rage by the two guards accompanying them in the carriage. Arthur might be a wild and unpredictable prisoner, but Charles murdered law, possibly even friends of theirs.

The trip from Annesburg to Saint Denis took two days. Two days of bumpy riding and pissing in a pot, only a small sliver of light illuminating the reinforced metal cabin. At some point there had been some stale water, but nobody bothered sharing their food. Why waste it on men destined for the rope? Charles had tried talking to Arthur once, early on and only gotten a baton to the head for his trouble- the men were not like those left dead behind them, and their prisoners were to be kept silent.

As the second day crawled along, the thickness and acrid smell of the air betrayed their entrance into swampland and the manure, the farmland beyond. And when finally smoke and tar burned his lungs and seemed to hang all about them, their journey concluded with a final jarring halt of the wagon. More than anything else, the fear, the instinct to escape, Charles was hit with leg cramps as they were unloaded from the wagon into six inches of soupy mud. Cramps that burned his legs and near ended with him falling to his knees. Arthur didn’t seem to be doing much better.

They hadn’t managed to recover fully before being rushed directly from the carriage into a paddle boat and it was only then, as they crossed the impressive expanse of water, that he was finally he was free to survey their surroundings. The very air was dull and gray and wholly oppressive and from his little lookout, he could see the moat was surrounded by sprawling mud fields- a huge open region with excessive visibility before the tree line where countless bunches of vines hung between trees to create a messy wall of woven foliage.

Charles was shocked out of his thoughts by a rocking of the boat and startled to find himself looking down on a long-scaled spine, just breaking the surface alongside of the boat. But even as he gaped down at the alligator in horror, none of the other men seemed surprised, one man cursing softly, the other raising his gun. It only took one warning shot to scare off the beast- as well as Arthur, who almost tipped the boat as he flinched at the sound. But at every turn Charles wondered at the teeth of that thing, the claws, and the worrisome thought of more of them, circling the little island before them- beasts like dragons from the stories Arthur would sometimes ramble on about when drunk, one time even trying to knight Charles with his gun as 'the king.' Guarding the prisoners and dragging them down should they escape the towering walls ahead. With the nonchalant attitude of the guards, it seemed no mere accident that the prison was situated in such a place. And on they rowed, the raised gun trained on him joined by another half dozen from watchtowers dotting island’s shore.

“Say goodbye to freedom, murderer,” one man finally said, breaking the long silence with absolute hatred in his voice as he continued rowing forward angrily.

“As if you aren’t a killer too, you hypocrite,” Arthur replied from inside his bag, voice hoarse from disuse, clearly unaware that the guard’s angry eyes were on Charles rather than himself. “Only difference is you pat yourself on the back and call yourself a hero as you do it.”

“Watch your tongue!” the man hissed out, but his partner pulled him back with a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s alright, they’ll both hang soon.”

“Won’t be soon enough,” he said, but backed down and the silence reigned once again as they glided through the water.

The island’s exterior gates only opened momentarily to admit the boat before slamming closed behind them and from there, the guards continued to act with impressive efficiency, collecting a couple other men who’d been waiting awkwardly by the beach in similar chains with similar uniformed men to watch them.

After being chained together, the little party was herded towards the towering prison proper, dried grass and dry dust welcoming them underfoot and rifles from above. Any worry he had for Arthur in his still blind state was wasted though, Charles was last in the single file line, only followed by a loaded gun, no chance to offer an arm to the stumbling man. The towering stone gate they found themselves marching through was bigger than any building he’d seen in his life and under any other circumstance he may even have been impressed by it, but now, he could only think of how hard it would be to scale, how many hundreds of years it would take for Arthur to burrow under or through with his spoon. Artillery decorated the wall and more guards stood at attention behind the battlements, rifles clearly visible even from the distance, trained on them even as they were weighed down with chains. The gate slammed shut. 

Once they traded hands from their escort to the prison guards, they found themselves in an enclosed dirt courtyard, barren of all but a stockade and a few guards dotting the edges. They didn’t have to wait long though, just moments later a man who Charles immediately recognized as their leader emerged from one of the large halls surrounding the barren courtyard. The sudden intent stares from the rifleman above were enough warning of the man’s status, but the confidence of his gait, the hard look in his eyes, and his immaculate uniform didn’t hurt the picture. He had a weathered face with some scarring, but his short graying hair pushed back from his forehead in a neat fashion, and his crisp uniform looked more like a military uniform than sheriff’s garb.

“Who’s this?” the man asked in greeting, eyes flicking over Charles in confusion. “We were expecting two, but not one of his… visage.” Charles felt like an insect, spread out under this man’s thumb but his words had all dried up and he didn’t seem capable of saying anything, of even opening his mouth. But one of the guards saved him from needing to. 

“He was taken in with Morgan. The paperwork we found in Sheriff Dunn’s desk stated they were retrieved from bounty hunters.” Those eyes jumped to him again, considering almost skeptically. He didn’t look pleased by whatever he saw.

Arthur lazily drawled, “ _he_ weren’t with me, just hired him for a construction job and the bounty hunters got greedy from the thought of more coin. Poor bastard.” He spoke easily with no hesitancy in his voice and a little laugh and if Charles didn’t know him better, he’d believe every word of it even if the bag somewhat lessened the effect. The man before them gave no sign if he did though, turning to the guards without even recognizing Arthur outwardly.

“What did those papers say about him then?” The stern man asked the guards impatiently.

“Not really anything… name’s Joshua I guess. But he shot and killed both the Annesburg lawmen. Sheriff Dunn and Bernard -Deputy Bernard- while trying to escape. He didn’t seem to be helping Morgan escape himself though, left him stranded in the jail after escaping,” Charles was bemused to see the stuttering unrest on the man who’d sat like a statue through those two days of travel.

“And you let him do that? How did he get the gun?”

“I have no idea how he managed to get it, we hadn’t even arrived yet!” He said defensively. “It was too late…”

He finally nodded curtly, clearly weighing the information, eyes flickering between the two of them, then finally over to the other two prisoners they’d met up with.

Finally, he cleared his throat until all their eyes rose to attention- guards and prisoners alike, barring Arthur’s which was hooded even now. “We’ll talk more on this later, both of you wait in the guard’s mess.” They both seemed excited at that, the promise of food and freedom from this man surely a sweet reward after days of travel. Then the warden turned back to the little group of four prisoners and begun his speech, voice much louder than necessary for their proximity. And at some point, more prison guards had snuck up behind them, hanging just a few feet back at their leader spoke.

“I am Warden Oliver, and in this prison, I have absolute authority. All of you have committed unspeakable crimes, and as such, you no longer are to receive the freedoms and rights as your fellow Americans as they do in the civilized world. Here, there’s another type of law more fitting for swine than men. You’re to follow all our orders promptly or be disciplined for it- it's a simple life but with no room for disobedience.” He paused here with a little nod, as if agreeing with his own statement, then cleared his throat and continued. But despite the uncomfortable reality that his words revealed, Charles was struck by how almost inhuman he sounded, relaying information in such a practiced and precise tone. There would be no appealing to this man. No games to be played.

“You will be outfitted for our institution and kept here to work until your predetermined execution date in Saint Denis, which shall be supplied to you no later than two days ahead of time, baring extreme cases. You will be expected to work twelve hours a day and fed two meals. Nothing more, nothing less assuming you aren’t facing additional punishment for any offenses while under our care.” Arthur’s bag was finally torn away, the man swaying forward at the unexpected barrage of light as if he were knocked back by a much stronger force. As the dazed look diminished and he had a chance to blink against the light, his expression turned to the man, belligerent and angry. Charles almost wished they’d kept the hood on, all too aware just what that look meant. “Is that understood?”

“Oink,” Arthur said softly, still blinking aggressively as he eyed their new home. So softly that Charles just barely heard. But clearly Warden Oliver did too, lunging forward in alarming disparity to the rigid stance he’d previously maintained. Arthur only just managed to keep his feet at the rifle crashing into his side, little pained grunt the only sound in the yard. Charles gritted his teeth in annoyed concern and tried to catch his eyes after all these days of separation, but Arthur refused to meet them, so intent on the northern wall.

“I’ll ask again, is that understood?”

“Yeah…” Arthur gritted out after a few tense seconds of deliberation; eyes still fixed on the stone.

“Yes what?” Arthur’s glare jumped back with a sudden intensity, but he was silent.

“If you’re absolutely set on this behavior, it’s nothing to me. As warden of this establishment, whatever happens to you is entirely up to my discretion and it rarely takes longer than a week to quench such impulses in even the vilest of men.” Arthur didn’t let up his resistance though, just gritted his teeth a prepared for the promised violence the warden deemed appropriate. Charles was focused solely on Arthur. But in his distraction, he didn’t have a chance to prepare for the blow coming _his_ way- the baton catching him hard to side of the head and sending him careening towards the ground. In his pained confusion, Charles thought he heard Arthur let out a sudden bark of laughter as he hit the ground. He felt wetness trail down his ear and a boot pressed down on his head.

“This funny?” the warden asked, confirming what Charles had thought himself crazy to have heard.

“Not particularly…” Arthur said, not sounding at all concerned about Charles’s current ordeal. Perhaps he didn’t want to show weakness by caring for another prisoner. But regardless of intent, it took a few more agonizing moments before the boot slowly eased up, bit by bit until Charles had the space to stagger to his feet. Warden Oliver seemed to be searching for something on both of their faces, but eventually he just waved over another guard impatiently. 

“Good. For now, all of you are to change into more appropriate clothing and to report to your cells for role call. Daniel!”

Another man, shorter with a bored face came trotting up, out of breath from the small stint.

“Sir?”

“Take over for me. Give them the ground rules and take them to the bunks. Careful of that one though,” he gestured to Arthur, “he’s got a real bad attitude, best keep the leash short.”

“Yes sir,” Daniel replied, turning his eyes on Arthur warily as he wiped perspiration from his face with a dirty little handkerchief.

“And you,” Warden Oliver turned on Arthur again. “We’ve got riflemen lining this whole establishment as I’m sure you’ve noticed, and you’d best remember that for the duration of your sentence here. It means little to me if we’ve got to take out a limb or two as we wait for your special day on the gallows. One wrong move is all it takes,” he said with the first real shred of emotion Charles had seem. Some barely concealed giddiness at the prospect of a hanging. And with that, he made his exit, a little nod given to Daniel before marching back to the building he’d come from.

-

Luckily it seemed Daniel cared little for violent demonstrations or posturing, he hurried them through the prison, explaining the prison rules briefly as they walked in single file towards the largest of the buildings. There were two meals a day, showers after hard manual labor, two sets of clothing, one pair of work boots. Cell mates were assigned randomly. He couldn’t quite remember all details of work duties or role call timing, but the basics were relayed. Charles eyes were glued to the walls themselves rather than the man though, looking for weakness and crumbling bricks, hand holds for scaling, gaps in surveillance. But they all looked solid with some of the best craftmanship he’d seen before, all in the service of containing men like them. Worse was the line of guards looking down from above, some bored looking or slouching but other sharp eyed with their guns raised even now.

Arthur voice was almost shocking after so many days of silence between them.

“You alright?” He sounded guilty.

“Yeah,” he replied, physically his head was only aching slightly from the attack. Arthur looked unconvinced as he hung back closer to Charles, pushing the limits of the chain slack but still managing to keep his feet. Daniel had all but turned his back on them to lead them after finishing his own little speech, pulling the little chain gang behind him by a rope affixed to the first man.

“We’re goin’ with the Annesburg story, right?” Arthur asked. They’d gone over their cover story multiple times now, discussed every wrinkle, tried to think of plausible answers to any of the expected- and in some cases unexpected- questions they’d likely be asked. As Bernard had said before everything went to hell, they were brought here in part for questioning, not strictly for punishment and penance.

“They saw me kill two men. I honestly don’t see the point anymore Arthur,” he said, drawing a long-suffering glance from their escort when Arthur stumbled a bit, slowing the group down. But he didn’t care to stop their congregation either as they recovered and made their way through the dirt path surrounded by rocks, barrels and tents full of rations. It reminded Charles of a fort here, the scale of the establishment startling, the uniformed men only reinforcing his impression. He’d seen such places under different circumstances, but he hadn’t been chained then, and had always managed to make off with goods.

Prisoners and guards alike seemed to stare them down as they passed and the gaze of a few inmates peaking out from a loading dock was almost as uncomfortable as those of the guards. They had all the interest and caution as the guards, but with the addition of desperation and boredom of long-time prisoners. Sizing them up for what? Was it simple curiosity or something more?

Arthur pulled him away from the uncomfortable question with one of this own. “They saw the actual killin’?”

“Close enough. They caught me standing over the bodies with a gun, I even drew on them before I surrendered.” It was the first time they’d had a chance to talk unsupervised and Charles felt a jolt of shame at the admission, but Arthur just nodded along without judgement. Maybe he only he expected suicidal last stands from himself.

“So no. I could say I shot them and pushed them out the window to hide the evidence. They don’t have proof and you did back down instead of fightin’ ‘em.” He looked so earnest. “Besides, killin’ two men is tame compared to all them heinous crimes you’d be on the hook for as Dutch’s man.”

“Mm,” Charles mumbled, unconvinced of what Arthur was getting at.

“You don’t know all we’ve been accused of Charles- told you some, but not all. Any type of atrocity, whether true or not, are forever pinned to our damn names. We need to go with the story. Please?” Charles nodded after an awkward pause, confident of his own execution either way. But if it meant so much to Arthur to not pin van der Linde’s crimes on him too, that was fine.

“Alright.” Arthur looked relieved. And still a bit guilty as he eyed the bloody drip off his chin with a glare, hands rising instinctively, then dropping as he realized they were still shackled tightly.

“Shit. I’m sorry I’m an idiot and got you hit with that, I should have known better to poke a man like that.” He corrected himself, “I did know better. But then I couldn’t be seen wailing like some beaten dog at some _stranger_ getting worked over. I’ve got a reputation as a killer to maintain now.” Charles couldn’t help the little snort of his own laughter.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t think you were actually amused by it despite your play acting- just very confused. But be careful, I don’t think Oliver was bluffing about shooting you and I figure you’ve been through enough of that for a while. We both have...”

“But that ruins my plan to fight the biggest, strongest bastard here to make a name for myself. Could make my own gang, just like old Dutch.”

“I’d rather you didn’t pick a fight with _me_.” Then Arthur was the one scoffing. “And please, don't let your criminal prowess get to your head- I’d really rather you not turn into that man,” Charles said fondly before he continued more sullenly, “I’m serious, I can’t lose you to some game now.”

“Okay,” Arthur nodded back, equally sober at the heartfelt plea.

“Plus, what you’re currently doing is weakening every line of bullshit you fed to that man. Don’t usually see strangers this close,” he said, again teasingly. Arthur seemed to remember himself and tore himself back from where he’d ended up by Charles side.

“Oops, you're right…” Charles just offered him a little grin, feeling a bit better after the days of staring at that damned bag. Arthur's admittedly scruffy and wild face was a most welcome sight. "And just... in case things don't go so well and I don't have the chance. I know you already know, with how I'm always, I don't know, swoonin' and all..." Charles had never seen Arthur swoon, but he enjoyed the picture all the same. "But well, I love you." The words were hardly there, a mere whisper for his ears only. 

"I love you too, Arthur. More than anything," he admitted easily now, reveling in the little blush that never failed to arise on Arthur's face even after all this time. But an annoyed grunt from the man before them on the chain pulled them out of the moment and Arthur forced his eyes away to follow along, moment broken, chains set on forcing them apart. 

-

When they finally reached the hall, both still hyped up and aching to be closer, Daniel and another younger guard with glasses confiscated their clothing, leaving them in black and white striped jumpsuits that bunched in weird places and left him itchy all over, their own clothing hurriedly being stowed away in crates. But they had no time to regroup before Arthur and the scrawnier of the prisoners was steered off, physically shoved right out the door, and Charles could do nothing but watch that final glance backwards. 

Charles and the remaining grizzled man were instructed to sit and wait for the barber to arrive and proceeded to do that in silence, clearly neither of them in a friendly mood after the events of the day. Perhaps the barber pitied him or perhaps he was just feeling a bout of booze triggered laziness, but he didn’t hack off his hair as he had the man before him, just surveyed his hair with a little comb and all but shoved him through the door, attention already falling to the red-haired man who’d been pushed into the room at some point to wait angrily in line behind Charles.

“Lice free, better keep it that way or you’ll be right back here,” he called out, but Charles didn’t bother to respond, the barber’s eyes were already busy surveying his next customer. And so, he was clothed and inspected and ready to join the prison population with the grumpy newly sheared man his only company.

“Jakobson,” the man uttered as they waited for their escort, surprising Charles after almost an hour of silence. He hadn’t looked over to Charles at all, didn’t seem very interested in anything other than scratching at his ragged scalp.

“Joshua,” he said.

“I heard. Best not annoy Warden Oliver though, boy. Been here before and a rifle to the head was tame.” Charles grunted in thanks; he wasn’t surprised to hear it but couldn’t help the little shiver, imagining what the man might do. He hoped with all his being that Arthur would keep his promise at all costs. “Best keep your head down completely if you mean to last here, it’s a different sorta folk here- most still comin’ to terms with the fact their lives are over. Having a notorious man like Morgan at your back can’t hurt in here though, even if he don’t _seem_ to care about you none.” That sounded sarcastic, and Charles wondered if he’d heard their conversation on the way over. “Even I know he rap sheet and I’m just some nobody who has too strong of a taste for the shine.” 

“Really?” He nodded.

“Just some advice for a clearly uninitiated prisoner, don’t think too hard on it. This cut goddamn itches! I ain’t have lice- whatever that man said.” Charles didn’t mention the little bugs that even now floated down around him like rain. Just subtly kept his distance.

When the finally entered the large building divided into dozens of cells Charles couldn’t help being overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the room and the loudness of all the men cramped together in their desperation. He’d never stayed in such a gigantic but claustrophobic place, even the cell out in Annesburg was more spacious that the dozens of little cells lining the walkway like sardine cans- countless men packed in, some cells hosting two or even three individuals.

Jakobson seemed used to the mayhem and didn’t bother gaping up at the cells they passed, just offered a little bored wave to Charles when he was pushed off into a cell with another agitated scratch to his scalp. Charles was led a bit further, foots echoing on the metal grate that served as a walkway to his second story cell. He’d never seen so much metal before, the whole building fashioned with the rough steel- another factory raised up from the swamp. It was loud, every footstep reverberating beneath him. Finally, they came to a stop with a final echo of a step.

“Get along boys, I don’t want any fighting.” And with a weak little shove and a clanging of the bars, Charles was a federal prisoner with all the rights afforded to one. To that of a ‘swine’, he thought bitterly. He eyed the man already propped up on his bunk warily, holding his bundle to his chest.

“Joshua,” Charles gave a little gesture of greeting, not entirely sure of the proper etiquette in such a situation. The man was small, with sparse brown facial hair- perhaps twenty, perhaps forty. He made a little noise of greeting but seemed all but frozen to his place on his cot, none too pleased with Charles’s sudden appearance. He assumed he’d been placed in a different barrack than Arthur. Why wouldn’t they make this as awful as possible for them both? They had so far.

So when he approached the bars to seek out Arthur, he couldn’t help his surprise as his gaze fell to where Arthur was sullenly staring him down from a cell across the hall from him- not forty feet away. But when Arthur tried to call something over to him, the words were all but lost in mayhem of the room. Arthur was trying to gesture to him with his hands, something elaborates and altogether nonsense to Charles’s eyes. He didn’t mind watching the man curse over himself though, somehow through all of this, that was grounding. 

"You stay on your side, I'll stay on mine,” he finally heard from behind him, voice not rude but also clearly forced. Charles just nodded, trying to school his face into something bland as he tore his gaze from Arthur. Such an understanding would serve him well enough. After trying- mostly unsuccessfully- to communicate with Arthur, he turned his attention on his little cot, a rigid wooden board attached to the wall with even more iron. The only home he’d likely have now. He perhaps took too long arranging his meager belongings on the cot opposite from the other man, but he was feeling odd, trying and failing to add any measure of personal touch to his space.

The first night tucked away in the little brick lined cell was difficult but against all odds, Charles was finally able to drift off into restless sleep, the intensity of his exhaustion finally catching up with him even as he warred with his heavy eyelids and paranoia of his new neighbor. The next morning when he startled awake with a curse, Arthur was already gone from cell and the same endless noise of the masses barraged him from every angle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now entering prison au phase two, maximum security!


	20. Chapter 20

Boredom and fear were two emotions that seemed to be fundamentally at odds, but Charles found himself drifting back and forth between them- one moment staring out at the little square of light infiltrating their cell in apathy, the next sick to his stomach with images of him and Arthur killed in various ways. He counted two long days that seemed much longer than the sun’s path would suggest. Two long days of sitting and waiting for something other than monotony and gruel delivered to their cell. He’d heard there was a mess hall, job assignment, a whole assortment of unpleasant tasks suited for prisoners such as themselves, but he hadn't gotten a taste of anything but the same claustrophobic cell. There wasn’t much to do but worry, the cell barren other than the two cots and shared chamber pot. When his cellmate finally spoke after two days of silence, Charles jumped, surprised gaze flickering away from the little patch of light.

"It’s to wear ya down, break your spirit ‘fore they let you talk to the others. Just be glad you ain’t in the underbelly, you’d miss the screamin’ and mayhem up ‘ere." The man hadn’t turned to him and his words were somewhat muffled by the brick wall he was muttering into.

"And you?”

"They don't let me into the yards anymore," he said, a subtle pride shining through the words as he wrapped his scrawny arms around his chest protectively.

"That so." 

"Yeah, they don’t like fightin’ none and it don’ much matter who throws the first punch." Charles immediately thought of Arthur and his inclination for brawling.

“You’ve been here a long time then?”

“Years. ‘Round ten.” Charles was under the impression that this institution was more suited to work prisoners to death before disposing of them than any attempts at reformation. But here was a man, not working but wasting away in a cell. 

"Just some friendly advice since you look the fightin’ type, no offense intended. Just mean you look strong is all." 

"None taken...” If any other useful knowledge was imparted on Charles on that second eve in prison, he wasn’t able to sift it from the mass, but he rested easier that night anyway, some itch scratched as he attempted the impossible task of getting comfortable on the thin cot.

“Well good, I’m glad to meet you- it’s nice having a friend after all that time alone in the basement. Things are finally lookin’ up for me again.” And with that, Charles’s new _friend_ was back to the endless gnawing at his nails, every little crunch to the cartilage of his ruined hands sending a chill through him. He hadn’t looked over at Charles once through the conversation, but one thing rang out clearly- even with all these folks stuffed together, this was a lonely life.

“Brady,” the word was quiet, and it took Charles a moment to recognize that it was a name.

-

“We ain’t finished with you Morgan, you’d best remember that.” Those were the heated words that roused Charles from his slumber in the early hours of the third morning when the mad chatter of the hall finally lessened to a dull rumble and occasional metallic clank. He rose instantly as if possessed, staggering off his cot to check the opposite cell just in time to see Arthur shoved unceremoniously back into his cell. Charles didn’t waste any time, uncaring of their company.

“Arthur!”

The guard standing at the end of the hall didn’t escape either of their notice, but Arthur flew to the bars regardless.

“I told them the truth,” Arthur said somberly, code shining through the defeated tone of his voice. He hadn’t been broken down. He’d stuck to the story, despite whatever torture had been inflicted on him. Charles dragged his eyes across Arthur’s form, trying to find any cuts, bruises, or gingerly poised limbs, but at the distance, he simply couldn’t tell. Besides, his eyes were more concerned with the two guards who’d changed their trajectory for his own cell, making the loop around to Charles’s side of the divide. Arthur tried to mouth something to him, but Charles couldn’t decipher any code or instruction to it.

Brady ran for cover by the far wall and Charles averted his eyes towards the ground and tried to fade away himself, waiting nervously for the men to make their purpose known. But it wasn’t his bunkmate they had come for, and when the first taller man coughed and shoved a pair of iron manacles through the grate of a cell door, Charles followed directions even as his stomach plummeted, clamping the metal shut and offering his hands out to the men- both infinitely more careful than Bernard had been days before. He tried to beat down the self-consciousness at the staggering number of eyes glued to the little party as they trekked by. A murderous glare from one large, bearded man for even daring to glance his way, a wink from another. But the same desperate glint of caged beasts filled all the men’s eyes.

From the main hall, they weaved their ways through small stone hallways, low doorways and eventually a spiral staircase, descending exactly eighty-eight stairs, increasingly damp as they went. Charles could only think of the festering swamp above them, the hundreds of pounds of mud packed around him like a cocoon.

The room they ended up in was small and misshapen, stones stacked haphazardly, crumbling with age, so at odds with the neat walls above ground. It was also overwhelming in its smell- moldy and musty to a point that even breathing was a burden. He swallowed, trying to stop fear from clouding his face as his arms and legs were cinched down to the metal chair tightly, no explanation offered as he was manipulated into a rigid posture in this makeshift dungeon. The men then filed out of the room with a final slam of the metal door, no words or final glances for their charge, departing with their lanterns and leaving him in complete darkness. He tried his arms, then his legs with no real hope. All was sturdy, the sound of dripping water his only company in the chamber.

It was hard to maintain the level of anxiety his body demanded as time passed by alone in the darkness, minutes turning to hours in the same uncomfortable pose, only the slightest curling of his fingers possible from within the steel. His mind cycled through all the possibilities- the warden beating him until he broke down, starving him down here, chemical persuasion with needles and syringes filled with modern wonders. And in the face of these options Charles had no idea how to play it, if he’d even have the mental capacity to hold back under such pressure. But Arthur was alive. Able to talk, unbroken. Lively. He tried to calm himself with deep breaths and the repetition of those thoughts in his claustrophobic battle with the room.

-

When he finally heard footsteps treading down the staircase towards him, he sighed in bitter relief- some small, frightened part of his brain rejoicing in the fact he wasn’t forgotten in the depths of the swamp. A man came to a stop before him, immaculately shined boots neatly aligned before his own worn prison boots, no doubt belonging to a long line of dead men. Charles dared to look, craning of his neck to consider the face of his captor, Warden Oliver. But his mind startled to find the face too long, not as lined, younger.

“I’m Officer Murphy and I’ve got a few questions for you.” Charles nodded, heart deciding it was time to rebel. Arthur’s voice was loud in his mind, ‘stick to the story.’ Arthur made it, and so could he.

Officer Murphy took his time settling in as Charles tried willing feeling back into his restrained limbs. The man’s rooting around and meticulous arrangement of pens and paper seemed endless. Eventually, a second man pushed through the door, less impressionable but just as well armed. He made the long-suffering trek over to them with a heavy sigh as he plopped down on the other free chair heavily, uncaring of the wood screaming beneath him.

“My head feels like shit…” were the first words uttered out in the tense little room in ten minutes, breaking the tension from oppressive to something more human. A man with a hangover and his impatient colleague, doing their job. Nothing more.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t stay out with the boys when you have a shift the next day Gibson.” He received a grunt of a reply. “Let’s just get started.” Charles took a breath and prepared to lie through his teeth even as he felt his brow beginning to bead with sweat in the suddenly stifling quarters. The men were both staring at him, Gibson’s pen poised to write down every word despite the pained grimace of a face. But it was the other men who began the barrage of questions. Charles focused on the little fringe of hair sticking out from his hat, a tiny imperfection in his neat countenance, an excuse to avoid those inquisitive eyes.

“Joshua was it?” He nodded. “Our sadly departed Annesburg officers don’t have much in your file, so now it’s your final chance to shed some light on just what you were doing with Arthur Morgan when arrested.” And so, the conversation began, if it could be considered that at all, the rapid fire of questions exhausting as it was tense. Long threads of questioning winding their way around Charles, looking for any weakness to slither past. It was nothing like the violent interrogation Charles was expecting- just endless questions, the same one posed a dozen different ways. Of his background, his childhood, what he’d eaten for dinner weeks before.

“Venison,” he answered. And that was probably true, he could hardly remember.

“And where did you get the meat?”

“I caught it.”

“With a gun? A bow?”

“A bow.”

“It wasn’t entered as evidence when you were taken in Annesburg. A whole list was sent over a week ago. Says you were carrying nine dollars, a holster, the clothing on your back, three cigarettes, all in a leather satchel. Your companion wasn’t either.” The man slid the neatly scrawled inventory list over to him on the table. Bernard must have written that, and Charles felt like vomiting as his brain supplied images of his destruction. Of his uncle’s frenzied screaming and shaking hands that had led to his own death. Two terrible crimes that may as well be etched onto his forehead.

“That was after the bounty hunters stripped us bare,” he recited blankly. With a final hard look, the officer pulled back the list and flew into another line of questioning with Charles feeling like he’d failed a test. But for all the angles they chipped away at, van der Linde was never mentioned in name or deed, men moving the conversation back to those early days in the woods, in Annesburg as a vagrant. But no punches to the face or threats to tear out his fingernails. He was tired though, thoroughly and completely.

“Your family then?”

“Dead.”

“How did it happen? How long ago?”

Charles gritted his teeth, “a long time ago. Why is that relevant?”

“We can hold you indefinitely on the evidence we have, just answer the question,” the man looked at his watched and sighed. “When someone is caught alongside a wanted outlaw, it doesn’t usually pan out well for them.”

“They died years back. Got sick and died of fever,” it wasn’t true, but why not add a false history to a false name?

“And after they died, where did you live? How?”

“I travelled a lot, lived off the land,” and that _was_ mostly true, barring the thieving and prize fighting he dabbled in.

“That must have been hard, living alone and hunting for all your own food… you must be a good shot.” The questions continued long into the day, or night, as Charles got more and more dehydrated, having refused the little shots of whisky the men had offered to him.

-

“You said you met Mr. Morgan in Annesburg?” The first direct mention of Arthur, hours into the conversation.

“Yes.” They knew Arthur was Arthur, didn’t they? Arthur had tried to play Bernard, but surely that meant nothing in face of these men with their posters and witnesses, and… he was pulled from is thoughts.

“Why were you there? And what were your lodgings?” 

“I’d just arrived from up in the mountains in need of money. Then I met Morgan- he went by Callahan- and agreed to help him with a construction project up in the mountains.”

“You’re a carpenter then?” A scathing look.

“Sometimes, I’ve been living out on my own most of my life, so I’ve picked up some skills in building over the years.”

“So you meet Morgan in Annesburg. In the bar then?” Charles paused in confusion, why would he have mentioned a bar? Had Arthur made a mistake, concerning the story? Charles took a deep breath and held true.

“No, I met him near the outskirts of town- we were riding in around the same time and he looked a bit lost. Drunk even.”

“Drunk, but nowhere near the bar? Alright. So you meet a drunk man, agree to work for him, then,” he looked down at another document neatly arranged before him, “you spend the night with him in the Annesburg inn.” Charles mouth ran dry, unsure what the officer was fishing for.

“Is that so odd? I had no money, and it was raining.”

“Yes.” He nodded a bit and exchanged a glance with Gibson, “on both of your ends. Morgan decides to hire some random mountain man with no ties to help him build a cabin just as the winter chill sets in. And the solitary mountain man in question agrees to work for a drunk he meets in the mud.” Charles shrugged; it did sound a bit idiotic when phrased in such a way.

“I couldn’t afford to turn down work so easily with empty pockets.” The men considered him, and Charles felt almost dizzy, his pulse hadn’t slowed down since arriving, the sweat collecting on his brow. They had him on two counts of murder regardless of his true identity. But if he was a simple vagrant turned murderer, what use would they have for him?

Gibson was tapping his foot again, faster even than his heartbeat, an impatient sound. He nudged his partner’s shoulder a couple times, then again minutes later.

“Alright, Joshua. Just a few clarifications for the official statement- your story has some holes and you’re acting a bit…odd. You’ll have to tell us what you really agreed to do for Morgan. Now I’ve got some ideas myself, given the circumstances, but I rather hear it from you. Then, we’ll be done and you can slink away back into your cell,” Officer Murphy finally said after a particularly hard nudge, his own impatience leaking out from his eyes. The conversation was as stagnant as the room.

But even then, after finally laying down the law and making demands, not one question regarding Dutch van der Linde or the train job. Just of Arthur and their association, of the woods and Charles’s past. Perhaps Arthur had done a good job of lying to these men, of presenting Charles as something separate from his past, a detached oddity from a chance meeting. But for all his skill and experience, his confident lies, Charles was suddenly surer than ever- Arthur was wrong. They knew he was lying despite not catching him in nothing concrete, but they also didn’t seem to think he was van der Linde’s man. This story could only spell out a quick death for him. He was going to die for his own crimes, not Arthur’s or Dutch’s. Every defensive lie he’d fed them pushed him further and further towards a closed case and the noose.

-

“You’re a terrible liar you know?” Arthur had said, not even bothering to move from his fur on the ground, eyes still glued to his journal. “Maybe the worst I’ve seen.”

“Some people would consider that a good thing,” Charles replied, trying to keep the little twinge of hurt out of his voice at the insult. But Arthur, ever observant, rolled over to look at him the second the words left his mouth.

“Hell, I do consider it a good thing!” Arthur said emphatically. “Despite you somehow endin’ up with me you’re the most wholesome, perfect, decent fella I’ve met.” Charles scoffed at the praise as he thought of how they’d met all those months before.

“Now I’m not sure if _that’s_ a lie,” he said with a glare, trying to hide that he was somewhat appeased regardless.

“Here,” Arthur said, embarrassed as he handed over the journal after shuffling through a few pages, looking away as Charles read the words.

_Charles is a better man than me. Honest and fair minded. He does not need to think to be good. It comes naturally to him, like right is deep within as opposed to the good, evil that rages within me. I always scoffed at the phrase ‘moral compass,’ especially when applied to the degenerates of society, sounds unfair to pin your own morality on someone like that. But I figure I understand now. I want to do right by him, and maybe in the process be a better man._

“See. I meant it as a good thing.” And Charles could only believe him, despite his own confusion. Lies and deceit were the only way people like them could hope to be together in such a world.

-

Neither officer believed him as he continued rambling on, but for the first time he felt hopeful even as sweat soaked his collar. After hours of struggling towards what Arthur deemed best, he’d given up, focused on another mode of victory. Guilt and fraying threads of the story they’d worked so hard to keep solid. They returned to a previous line of questioning.

“You said you hunted shortly before meeting up with Morgan. Can you walk us through your days near Annesburg one last time? Every little thing, regardless of how important you think the information is. From the beginning of the hunt to your fateful meeting in the mud and your actions in town with Morgan.”

It was the chance he’d waited for. They were clearly worn down by the lies just as he was by the questioning. They were desperate for something. So he gave them just that, adding new little details to his story.

“It was good country for hunting. The chill drove the grazers down into the woods up near Annesburg. Elk and deer mostly. I made some bait and waited down in an alcove for maybe an hour. I caught two deer the first day and another the next day.” He held his breath, averting his eyes and reveling in every suspicious movement his body compelled him into.

It took a moment for either of them to reply, but when the superior officer did, it was with a beautiful doubt.

“That’s a lot of meat.” Charles froze, heart beating fast. Officer Gibson still looked bored, clearly not engaged or skilled enough to get hooked on the line, but that was alright. “Why would you need to head out that second day if you already caught two.”

Charles waited a few more moments to answer, “I…I sold some to a trapper. Sometimes I do that to get extra cash when I’m in a rough patch and I stumble across the right man. I have to be careful when approaching such men, but I’ve found that more times than not they’re just really lonely out there with no company but pelts.” He finally took a breath.

“What was his name?”

“…I don’t know, he’s just some man who lives up there.”

“And you say you sold him two deer? How much did he give you?” Charles had sold to trappers before; two good quality deer would yield him at most six dollars, probably less.

“Thirteen.”

“I see. You were alone? This was how many days before you met Arthur Morgan in Annesburg.”

“Yes. One day before.”

“Is that all?” Gibson finally asked his partner; impatience oozing off him. Officer Murphy paused, considering him closely. Gibson’s pen seemed to hover over the paper, creeping closer and closer.

“Just about,” the officer said, “you said your pockets were empty when you met Morgan, but didn’t you just say you had thirteen dollars?”

“It used it.”

“On what?”

Charles paused, “booze.”

“You spent thirteen dollars on booze?”

“I lost some in a game of cards, spent the rest on whisky…”

“Where was this card game?”

“I-” Charles didn’t answer, his heart was beating faster than ever now- trying to finalize the catch without his fish pulling from the line. “In the hotel.”

“See here, Joshua- none of that makes any sense. How did you carry two deer to the trapper?”

“By horse.”

“Can you explain how two deer and a man of your stature could fit on a single horse?”

“The deer were smaller than most, I just tied them together.”

“Small, thirteen-dollar deer? And then where did the nine dollars come from when you were taken in?” Charles elected to finally close his mouth.

“You know what I think?” the man shifted closer suddenly, hand descending on Charles’s knee, fingers latching on painfully. He shook his head. “I think you’re full of shit. You were out there with someone, right? Bringing that food back to quite a few people?” Dutch’s name wasn’t mentioned, but for the first time, he was there in spirit.

“No,” he said outright. The hand was removed. It went fast from there, maybe fifteen more minutes of the treatment, and if Charles thought the earlier questions had been pointed, the intensity of the man’s face now was hard to hold up before. But it was easier for Charles, no longer grasping onto the lies Arthur had come up with, instead just refusals and little grunts or shakes of his head.

“It’s not a crime to sell meat to outlaws, if that’s what happened- morally suspect definitely but not criminal,” he said, giving Charles an out he wouldn’t take.

“I don’t know what you mean.” But while Charles rejoiced in the progressively annoyed frown across his interrogator’s face, he tried to hide it and project the opposite. Finally, out of nowhere the whole conversation was cut short though, slammed unexpectedly to a halt. 

“Well thank you ‘Joshua.’ Your information has been fully useless to us, but we were legally bound to give you the chance to speak before checking off the appropriate boxes on all the paperwork, so to say,” Officer Murphy said while doing just that, making little ink marks across the paper he’d been working over with a little flourish before he collected all the paperwork into a neat pile.

“That’s it?” Charles asked, dazed and dehydrated from hours of speaking with them, eyes still fixed on his forehead. More hair had fallen from the hat.

“Yeah, that’s it.” The man said, but Charles cringed backwards, hitting his head into the metal backrest when the officer suddenly pushed forward towards him, voice transforming from something weary to sharp. A hiss, “your execution date is tomorrow and everything you’ve told us will be filed away in the log. Your ‘last words’ so to say- we don’t allow them on the stand to prevent civil unrest from the audience, not that there’d be any dissent over the likes of you.” And with those clipped, angry words, Charles finally forgot how to breath entirely.

“But…” he trailed off, trying to keep down the panic. Was Arthur also scheduled to hang tomorrow? Would he even get a chance to talk to him first? And the hardest question of all, was there any combination of words that could have saved him here? Officer Murphy collected his papers and made for the door without a glance backwards, done entirely with Charles and his ill-fated case.

As the restraints were loosened, Gibson offered a sympathetic pat to his shoulder, but Charles hardly felt it in his catatonic state. "Morgan told us everything you know. Congratulations- you’re one tight lipped bastard. But sadly, it don’t matter." Charles tried to keep his face straight and not fall into their games, but he couldn’t help the question.

"Why’d you need me then, if he talked?" 

“He talked about _you,_ not anyone of real importance. Said you weren’t as innocent as you let on.” Charles tried to keep the bitter laugh contained, Arthur would never do that. “Even told us about Copper.” What? Charles blinked in confusion, just what had Arthur said? The dog hadn’t been part of the story at all, only a danger that could implicate Hamish too.

"So let's just cut to the chase- you give up van der Linde’s location and write down all the crimes you witnessed Morgan commit and I’ll make sure you’re spared the rope. Despite your own crimes.”

"I…” he didn’t deny the charges, “how can I trust you? You hardly seem to be…” He started.

“I don’t care if you do or not, this is your one chance to survive, can you afford to make bargains? Besides, despite what you seem to think, the warden is an old family friend- if I make a case for you, he’ll listen to me.”

“But-”

"I'll make this easier for you. You help us, you _may_ live. Stay quiet, and we'll hang you at dawn. Murphy already put in the order as it stands- for all his posturing, he’d already decided before you ever descended those damn slippery steps.” 

“I’ll think about it…” Charles finally whispered, exhausted.

“Good, just don’t sit on your confession too long, people here aren’t exactly patient. You sure you don’t want some whisky?” he offered; little flask untucked from his disheveled coat. “You look like you need it.” He shook his head, even the thought of drinking now made him nauseous.

Charles wasn’t brought back to his cell that night, instead he was herded into a smaller holding cell to pass the hours alone. And through the long night he struggled to see any crack in their defenses, any possible way to escape. What they’d promised him was a farce and he supposed they’d kill him even if he gave them fabricated information. He’d perhaps tricked them into thinking he was one of van der Linde’s, in the process undoing Arthur’s work, but where had that got him? Or perhaps he hadn’t, perhaps he’d been dragged along in just the direction they’d intended as they had to dozens of men before him. He looked down at his shoes again in the gloom and suddenly couldn’t stand it- tearing them off and sending them flying into the corner of the room. Dead men’s shoes, he wondered who’d get them next.

Hours later, when orange light finally filtered in through the tiny metal slits of the cage, moving closer and closer to his cot, Charles had reached a numb sort of calm. Borne of hopelessness and exhaustion, but a calm all the same- the moment he’d been dreading since that first fateful run in with the bounty hunter’s rope.

“Have you had time to think on our offer.” Gibson had appeared from nowhere, clearly trying to hide some eagerness in his voice. Charles hesitated as he climbed up from his prone position.

But as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t offer van der Linde up, all the lies and possible hiding places he could report running dry in his throat. He simply had no idea where he was and how he could even hope to convince them that he did. Besides, Arthur might hate the man, but Charles knew he also couldn’t help but love him- despite the manipulation and years of abuse. Those badly hidden tears and hours spent wrapped up in old journal entries revealed too much for Charles to bear.

“Dutch is like family,” he managed finally, stronger than he hoped for, words ringing true. _Arthur_ was his family. “He’s like a…father to me.” Gibson looked thoroughly disappointed with the line, simply glaring a moment before turning and stalking away with no more words for him.

But when the guards arrived with stern faces and batons to fetch him, boots shined and echoing as they approached, they didn’t lead him directly off to the gallows. The little trek out across the dusty courtyard ended in a packed mess hall, filled to the brim with dozens of other prisoners in various states of freedom. Some were attached to tables by metal at the ankles, but others seemed to mill about in relative freedom, the only thing keeping them in line the rifle pointed down at the crowd from a second-floor balcony. Charles could see cigarette trading between prisoners and guards alike, a poker game surrounded by a little group of inmates, arm wrestling even.

“Why are we here?” Charles asked, confused, still in manacles.

“Collect your food on the far end of the room,” the guard pointed at the obvious counter covered in bland looking but steaming trays. “Then sit and eat.” A simple explanation that didn’t seem to register in Charles’s mind. “One wrong move and you’ll be back with Brady. Keep away from other inmates and keep your hands to yourself and you’ll he given the opportunity to work, earn some money even, given you have anyone to send it to. Warden Oliver has delayed your execution date.” Charles mouth fell open, eyes snapping to the cafeteria line and metallic trays spilling over with mysterious slop and bread, shocked at the prospect of eating. His eyes burned from the overabundance of light streaming in through the second story windows.

“Don’t worry though,” one guard said into his retreating back, “you’ll get our turn at the gallows soon enough.”

Charles made the walk over to the food in a daze, as quickly as his ankle chains allowed. At some point his wrists had been freed and he was presented with more choices of where to sit that he knew what to do with. Many faces looked downright murderous though, so he made for a largely unoccupied table before turning to his first meal in over a day. He’d never seen food so gray and wondered idly what it even was, finally taking a cautious bite out of necessity. Were they playing a joke on him? It didn’t make any sense.

He heard loud footsteps heading towards him and prepared to lash out. But it was Arthur who sat down heavily beside him with a long-suffering sigh, stuffing the spoon into his mouth without any words while Charles barely managed to stop himself from flinging himself onto him right in front of dozens of witnesses.

“Arthur!”

“It’s really not so bad, you should eat more,” Arthur said finally, raising his eyes from the spoonful of mush to Charles’s hardy touched tray. The relief was clear in his eyes

“Did they knock you around down there? It’s awful,” Charles responded.

“What? Why are you askin’ that?” Arthur looked suddenly worried, staring him down with the spoon frozen in midair. “Did they hit _you_ again? They did, didn’t they?” He asked with such intensity that Charles hurried to shake his head.

“No, nothing like that.” Arthur relaxed but didn’t continue his feast either. “But it was weird… I hardly remember was said, it went on so long.” He noticed eyes on them from across the room, and was suddenly paranoid that somehow, they could hear them. He spared a glance for the older man not five feet away. Had he possibly been offered a similar deal? Snitch on the two new men and get freedom, money, better food. “The fact their letting us talk together at all is suspicious.”

“Definitely. Maybe we shouldn’t act so familiar,” Arthur said worriedly. “Especially after you went and betrayed me to the authorities,” Arthur said smugly with a little wink.

“Umm…” In a way, he hadn’t betrayed Arthur exactly, but he _had_ betrayed the plan.

“Our little manipulative officer was tellin’ me you snitched on me somethin’ awful. Said you were set on tradin’ a confession for your freedom. So maybe we should be playin’ the part of enemies now- maybe you should tackle me, threaten to do somethin’ awful in front of all these folks,” Arthur’s eyes were dark, but he sounded serious enough. Charles ignored that particular request, Brady’s warning flittering though his mind.

“What’d you say to them?” he asked instead.

“Just the story we agreed on, not a word off script. What’d _you_ tell them?” They stared at each other.

Charles didn’t answer directly. “How’d they know about Copper?” Arthur looked over at him blankly.

“Told my roommate ‘bout her,” Charles couldn’t stop the helpless little laugh that forced its way up at the sheer absurdity of it all. “Asked me what I was in for, I thought I was bein’ funny- never thought they’d use _that_ against you, the damn rat.”

“Well, I told them the story at first, but I may have… well I may have _implied_ I was really with you and van der Linde the whole time… Then today, I did more than imply.”

“What? Why?” Arthur asked in shock, and though he seemed more baffled than betrayed by the confession, the narrowing of his eyes demanded an answer.

“Because they were going to hang me Arthur. For killing those men!” he hissed under his breath, “I’m worthless to them as _Joshua_ , but maybe I have a chance if they still think they can get some information out of me.”

“But-” Arthur started but Charles cut him off.

“I know you’re just trying to help, spare me some of the worst of it- but please believe me when I tell you this is the only way I can hope to survive the week. They went through all the motions, asked all types of questions, but I could tell they weren’t much interested in hearing me out till I brought van der Linde up.”

“…I guess, I weren’t there. But still, Dutch is nobody tie yourself to…” Arthur trailed off, finally meeting Charles intent gaze.

“Not everyone see’s me like you do. Maybe it would’ve worked before I went and murdered law,” Charles said, only somewhat convinced of that. “But not anymore.”

“Sure,” Arthur finally said, bashfully backing down. “Hell’va lot smarter than me, but… well, I just hope we aren’t wishin’ for a hangin’ before the end.” Charles couldn’t help the shiver but refused to regret his decision. “Did you agree to snitch on him?”

“No… I said van der Linde was like family to me,” he said, embarrassed. But instead of anger or more chastisement, his confession caused Arthur to break down into a fit of desperate laughter beside him.

“What the hell? He was a hell of family to you in your ten whole minutes of knowin’ the man.” Charles fought down the urge to point out he’d been just as bad to Arthur over all those years. Instead, he simply basked in the little reprieve they’d found themselves, a simple meal shared side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched a couple interesting interrogation videos on youtube to better learn about common tactics and it's a bit frightening how quickly people tend to break down under such misleading questioning. I know this was a confusing chapter, I wanted to channel that same chaotic energy!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally here with another chapter! A bit longer since it took so long :)

The sun was aggressively bright when they emerged into the open air, the day almost warm as they trekked across the prison grounds in single file. Saint Denis didn’t seem to follow the same rules of weather as the rest of the country, it felt more like October than late December. No signs of the snows that were surely blanketing Hamish’s valley or the plump hares in their winter coats. 

But even through the chains and bellowed orders, Charles couldn’t help a subtle thrill at the feel of sunlight sinking through his jumpsuit and the sight of moving clouds above, something organic and endless after the rigid boundaries of stone walls and metal bars. Even the smell of wet earth and grass that slammed into his senses was a relief, thick and cloying as it was.

All around them, neat lines of crops craned themselves towards the sky, and if not for the watchtowers surrounding them, the picture would be verging on pleasant. Corn stood to one side in impressive stalks, low green leaves of some root vegetable he couldn’t begin to identify to the other. Beyond those neat plots lay an even bigger variety of plants of all shades with sporadic groups of prisoners in many of them, stooped over and hard at work alongside the mule drawn carts and officers overseeing the operation. Half of Saint Denis was probably fed by the bounty here.

He risked a glance at Arthur. He hardly looked impressed by any of the scenery, offering Charles a grimace when he noticed him.

“That’s far enough.” The abrupt order shocked the group into an uncomfortable halt, the man behind Charles knocking into his back with a low curse. The officer who’d appeared before them was young but tall, almost at height with him and less sharply dressed than his fellow guards, uniform sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dirt crusting his hands. “Men,” he greeted, rocking on his heels and nodding to the two guards who’d ferried them over. Another couple officers joined him at the edge of the plot, both just as young.

“You’ve been sent to us because some sorry bureaucrat deemed you hearty enough for the job. But clearly, some of you are more promising that the rest.” Another officer spared him a little chuckle, but the third was busy staring, eyes inquisitively darting from one prisoner to the next. “Think of today as a bit of a test, to see if you can all hold your own out here.” It was a quick hand gesture more than any spoken word that ended the introduction and all three of them began their perusal of the chained masses, no more instruction to the prisoners.

One guard hastily shoved a slighter man to the ground in his route to Charles. He found his arm snatched from his side and had to contain his impulse to shake the man off as the man felt up his bicep with an approving grunt.

“I want this one,” he said as he dropped the limb and Charles spared a glance at Arthur who looked poised to launch himself at the offending man. Not that he’d get very far, chained and under the inspection of a second uniformed man himself.

“Fine, but only if I get Mr. Appleton here,” the last officer said, frowning as his colleagues laughed over the older gangly man. “Strength don’t mean everything; this one’s got years’ experience on a farm.” 

“Forty years ago maybe,” the dirty officer joked, not at all bothered that he was under the entire weight of Arthur’s glare. It took longer than expected as the officers bickered and pulled the baffled prisoners back and forth into three distinct groups in a flurry of repositioned locks and chains.

Charles tried to tune them all out as he turned his own sights to the sky, feeling surprisingly content as he looked out over the fields before them, mind drifting as he imagined this place under different circumstances. After weeks in that crowded hall, he mostly just longed for quiet.

“Don’t know why they bothered sending a cripple out here to begin with. You won’t be winning nothing from him.” The words shocked Chares out of his trance as they finally registered, noticing how Arthur self-consciously hid his right hand out of sight of the officers. They were mocking him. He almost felt the tension radiating from him, the badly veiled embarrassment that’d been hanging off him for weeks now, and for a moment, Charles was worried he’d argue himself into another blow to the head. But Arthur chose peace, instead straining at the ankle chain to move as close to Charles as the iron would permit.

“Asshole,” Arthur muttered with a final glare towards the officer before turning his sights on Charles in bemusement. “The hell were you smilin’ for?” It came out extremely bitter and he seemed to check himself, starting again more levelly, “it’s kind of concernin’.”

He clearly wanted a distraction, so Charles kindly didn’t even acknowledge Arthur’s defensive tone or the lingering laughter of the officers. He tried instead to explain his own clearly unsettling peace.

“I just ever thought we’d actually see the sky again, save through a bag.” Charles said simply, the truth all he had. He’d spent all night fearing today’s execution, near shaking with it, only be spared at the last possible moment. The simple act of breathing was almost dizzying. “I didn’t we’d make it this far. So compared to all that... I guess I’m just feeling relieved, that all we got to deal with now are some guards making bets over vegetables.”

“For now,” Arthur said, looking away. “They must be bored as us lot, actin’ like this is a damn horse race with how they’re pickin’ teams. Glad you’re happy at least, probably just preenin’ since you’re the best here. I’d pick you first too.” But he followed it up with a friendly bump of his shoulder that felt like an apology, craning to actually reach him over the shackles.

“At least we’re outside those walls, maybe they’ll be a chance to-” he was cut off by a stern cough and pulled backwards instinctively. But the man who’d arrived, wasn’t even looking at him- sights set of the officers currently laughing over a new target.

“And what may I ask, is the delay here?” the newcomer asked, eyes scanning the collection of prisoners and their suspiciously clean shovels. Even without the brass pin fastened to his hat, he was clearly their superior and his sudden appearance made them meek, cowering creatures- more pitiful even than the man they’d been pushing around. “You know how the warden feels about your games and I can’t say I think too highly of them either. If he were to hear about all this…” the threat loomed over them.

“Fine, fine- we’re going out right now, no more delays. We’ll just keep them out a little longer tonight. No harm?” It was a question that their superior seemed to think over a while, but with a final nod and survey of the group, the man was stalking away to the next group of men with a final muttered complaint about ‘damn children’. The chastened men let out synchronized sighs of relief, and after a brief hushed conversation, they made their last swaps in a scramble of chains.

From then on, the prisoners were all forced into constant activity, any wasted time and joking rivalry between the officers replaced by something harder and less forgiving as they approached the field. Worn shovels were shoved into their hands as they relayed strict orders on the proper applications of their tools- an awful elaborate way to forbid anyone using their shovels as weapons. As for practical farming knowledge, there was nothing more than vague hand gestures from the man who’d introduced himself as Officer Taft. He didn’t seem to keen on dirtying his feet though, hugging the edge of the plot as he directed them to watch Arthur’s officer demonstrate one plot over. Arthur’s team with the actual farmer would probably win whatever wage had been set- for all his supposed strength, the most Charles had foraged was medicinal ingredients and flowers.

And for all his construction calluses, the ancient shovel dug into his hands at different angles than the building tools had, blisters popping up as the day ticked by. Then he’d shift his hold on the rough handle and earn himself more in new places. He cursed when his shovel hit the metal encircling his ankle for the third time.

The whole operation seemed to sabotage itself with the officer’s insistence that the group wear the things looped around their legs like rats with their tails all tied up. If he wanted to move on to the next plant, he was forced to call out to the large fellow to his right to lean forward, or for the man to the left to scurry backwards. It was an awkward dance requiring coordination between strangers, all tired and muddy, and out of their depths as they struggled to fill the large carts and baskets around them. He could see tiny pinpricks of men in the farthest fields that were free of the chains. But those men also seemed impossibly efficient and experienced.

The first few beets came out in huge, dirty clumps that were more mud than root. But even so, with enough time the wicker baskets grew heavy, the little group picking its way through the rows of crops with progressively more synchronization. Clouds masked the path of the sun and the occasional barked order or worker’s cursing the only thing to pull him from the daze the mindless work.

He jumped at the opportunity to be released from the chain gang to carry the full baskets to the wagon, even if it was just a brief reprieve. Anything to release the awkward tension on his back.

“Only the wagon, mind you,” the Taft warned, as if Charles was foolish enough to attempt anything else. When he managed to load all the baskets in record time the guard seemed to relax, smug in his selection. He resolved to be less efficient next time. 

“You want me to get theirs?” Charles asked him after, pointing over to the neighboring plot where Arthur was already taking the chance to converse with another prisoner spiritly. He’d much rather loiter over near Arthur than get pushed back into the dirt to scrounge for more beets. The guard seemed to consider him, then the other field.

“Best not, can’t have them getting a foot up on us, can we?” The man didn’t look as if he was working hard for victory the way he was sprawled out against the wagon, feet up and cigarette lazily burning away. He did seem to notice Charles’s disappointment. “Don’t look so crushed about it, sure there’s some other work for you to do elsewhere. But hey,” he gestured for him to approach with a hurried scan of the fields. “You want one? Think you’ve earned something for doing your best to make me rich.” He held up another cigarette, offering it out to Charles. For a few awkward moments of indecision, he was convinced this was just another trap, something more to incriminate him but temptation finally won. He tucked it away in his suit with a nod of thanks.

It was hours later when the tired men were led to the showers that Charles finally got his next chance to talk to Arthur. Fifteen minutes of showering to get the worst of the dirt and sweat off without the painful grip of their shackles. Arthur didn’t even bother to join the fray though, ignoring the glare of an interior guard while shaking dirt off his hands and picking at a lost cause of a fingernail. He brought the hang nail to his lips then seemed to think better of it, his gaze sliding down Charles’s chest as he pulled back his own filthy jumpsuit.

“You look different.” Arthur hadn’t even bothered to hide his inspection and Charles’s heart sunk at the little frown, it wasn’t a look Arthur had ever given to him and despite himself he suddenly felt extremely unattractive, then embarrassed to care, given their current prospects.

“That bad?” He resisted following Arthur’s gaze to whatever was so off-putting. Seemed like this place was a humbling experience for them both. 

“What? No, of course not- you look fine. Handsome as ever, I swear, other than all the random mud and shit from the field. It’s just,” he hesitated before continuing, “just thinner is all, I hadn’t realized...” Charles knew he’d lost some weight after not eating well for weeks but it wasn’t until now, under Arthur’s concerned gaze, that he realized how much. They both had, but on Charles’s larger frame it was more obvious.

“You weren’t givin’ me your food back in Annesburg, were you? When I was sick?” He asked, suspicious as he looked between the two. Charles just shrugged, not willing to lie to him, but also entirely uncomfortable with the question. He’d been healthy and Arthur had been healing and weak, prone to throwing up his food late in the night while half delirious. It’d only been right, but now Arthur looked unduly upset over it, reaching forward before freezing and sheepishly returning his arms to his sides. There were lots of people here. “It’s just shit is all,” he continued, quieter.

“Yeah.” They were silent for a time as they waited for their turns at the shower.

“So what should we do?” Arthur finally changed the subject. “I’ll keep talkin’ up my chatty rat of a cell mate, can’t hurt to give them all a little hope on the Dutch front, but other than that… I’ve got nothin’ yet.”

Charles wished he had some ideas himself, but he was similarly stumped. Officer Taft had seemed nice enough to him in the field, in a bored and superior sort of way, but Charles wasn’t dense enough to not recognize bait when he saw it. He offered no more than a little shake of his head.

“Best we find a way to escape then?” Arthur phrased it as a question and Charles gave the room a survey, the high windows were grated shut, the main doors were iron. Even now that same damn guard was glaring over at their conversation, stopping him from giving Arthur the smoke as he’d intended. “I’m thinkin’ if we get out in the next couple weeks, we’ll be able to get back to Hamish to pick up Copper before the snows get too deep. They didn’t hang us yet, so I figure they’re waitin’ for somethin’… hell maybe it’ll be years from now when we run out of working years.” Charles blinked back at him, trying to find the jest on his tired, dirty face- but there was only a sort of dazed expression, his words not holding any of his typical spark and confidence. Like he was just going through the motions. This place was a fortress, designed to break men like them, to force the last drop of work out of them before they were put down like animals. There was no way.

“Yeah.” A nozzle finally freed up and he was relieved to find the remaining men allowing them to push in with only the occasional annoyed shove. They had to be fast to avoid returning to their cells covered in second skins of mud, but they were mostly successful, especially Arthur with his considerably shorter hair. And after, they got to eat together again, sharing an unidentifiable meal. He’d certainly not be gaining back enough week to appease Arthur under this treatment.

Brady asked how it’d gone later, but Charles wasn’t feeling particularly talkative after the long day of hard labor and unfortunate reunions, tired enough to collapse on his cot and cast his boots off somewhere before falling asleep. When he woke up early the next morning to the usual racket, he could hardly blink the sleep from his eyes before the two guards arrived to begin the whole process anew.

-

Arthur was collected for another session below the ground the next week, but it was shorter than the first and he didn’t seem particularly upset when he was marched back out to the fields with a black eye and smug expression. Charles hadn’t been pulled down there at all, had done nothing but work hard under the watchful gaze of Officer Taft. And for some reason, despite his initial struggles in the field work, he was clearly in the favor of their leader, let off the chain for the latter half of each day even as his fellow prisoners glared up at him with progressively enraged expressions. It was concerning, the jealousy dripping from those men- collectively much stronger than Charles if they ever ended up in a room alone together.

“It’s just so Joshua here can move all the damn roots you dig up without needing to disturb your pace every time- it’s nothing personal. Someone else want to demonstrate stronger arms? You can take his place right now,” Taft said with a bored, reproachful expression. No one took him up on the offer.

“Seems a shame such a hard worker like you ended up in a shithole like this,” Taft said one afternoon as Charles strapped down the final basket of goods, another three cigarettes tucked into his clothing. The officer seemed to want an answer past the little shrug he offered. “I mean it, my cousin at the docks would kill for an employee like you- competent, but without all the general shit talking of working men. You know what I mean, the endless complaining and griping about every damn thing.” Charles waited for the prodding line of questioning all through that day, and into the next. It was the third day when those questions popped their ugly heads and Charles could rest easy that he wasn’t turning into a paranoid mess like Brady. They were still trying to chip away at him and Arthur on all fronts. So he resolved to work hard to remain in Taft’s favor, accept all the cigarettes with as much graciousness as he could manage, and watch the man struggle to glean even the smallest shard of information.

But time did past, faster than it had any right to, given the monotony of their life. For all the blisters and gritty gruel, the structure of prison life forced them into a routine that left little room for brooding and fixating on their situation as they had in the stagnant Annesburg basement. He could look forward to sunlight and stretching his legs while tied up in the cell and to resting his weary muscles with Arthur in the mess while working the fields.

He was loosely keeping a tally of their time, but even at the two week point their plans for escape were nonexistent or so nonsensical they couldn’t help but groan over them from their place in the mess hall each day, so exhausted from the heavy work that escape almost felt like a burden. An obligation they both owed each other and themselves but couldn’t quite find time for. Thirty minutes in the morning before work, and anywhere between thirty and an hour later depending on the guards on duty.

Weekends were better, when the lazier guards seemed to cycle in, sometimes even betting over cards with the inmates and offering the odd sip of whisky as oversight of higher ranked officers waned. The whole prison had a sense of duality to it- on one side hardened militaristic guards working their best to whip their charges into shape and high productivity, and on the other side, spoiled bored guards who seemed to be more bachelors having fun over drinks and games than anything. But like all good things, there was a catch- these same young guards who would drink and play cards with the inmates would also sometimes be induced to bullying and violence against seemingly random men. Charles could only grit his teeth in guilt as he pulled Arthur back from useless heroics.

“What can we do? Even if you win, they’ll just punish you both,” he asked, shamed at the fire in Arthur’s eyes but confident that he was right in this. Selfish and self-serving- but what else did he have now other than a few minutes with Arthur each day? He surely didn’t tell Arthur of his own incidents with some of these men, of the insults that would surely push Arthur past the point of return. “They’ll throw you underground…” The rest was unsaid, that they’d be apart, maybe for the rest of their lives.

-

‘We could climb the walls with a rope and swim the moat’, or ‘do you think you could take on forty armed guards Charles?’ or the more nonsensical ‘I could challenge Oliver to one-on-one combat and if I win, we get to leave. Or maybe you should do it... you’re definitely better in a fist fight.’ But for all the nonsense, Charles could see the lack of progress was getting to Arthur, each legitimate idea knocked down by the countless guards, terrain, and demoralizing strain of living in such a place. Even the more relaxed guards were armed to the teeth and quick to turn under even the slightest offense or threat. Forming alliances with any of the other prisoners also felt an impossibility, as information was a hot commodity here. One thing they _had_ gotten down, was their vegetable smuggling plot. It was Arthur’s idea after failing to secure extra gruel in the kitchens.

Today Charles and his group were on cauliflower duty, the easiest of all the harvesting jobs but the hardest to smuggle. Better though, potatoes had to be cooked and processed but cauliflower was easy to scarf down raw, fresh from the earth. But when the little pebble landed a few feet away and he looked up to meet with Arthur’s inquiring look, he shook his head. Officer Taft was preoccupied, inspecting the wagon wheels and the other men were intent on their own work- he wouldn’t need a distraction today at all. Did Arthur look a bit disappointed?

The first time they’d done this, Arthur had fully committed himself as the distraction, and somehow ended with a bloody nose in the process, all in the efforts for Charles to pack his jumpsuit with beets. Another time he’d whispered all manner of nonsense to a man on his chain gang which caused a brawl to break out between two of the prisoners. Both men had been led away, never to be seen under the sun. But if Arthur felt guilty over his part in it, he sure didn’t look it as they tried to subtly consume the smuggled spinach in their corner of the mess hall. But today, none of that was remotely necessary and Charles gathered a modest portion, easily ferreting it away for later.

A few leaves were hardly going to help him put on the weight he’d lost, but after eating scraps of food on the verge of rotting, and sometimes well over it, any little salvaged morsel was a welcome change and if Officer Taft had caught on, he was playing dumb as could be. It was never enough though, the little scraps hastily consumed, the smallest tough in the showers too much of a risk, the odd minute stolen behind the mess hall for a smoke.

-

“You’ll never guess what some fella asked me today,” Arthur said in greeting, sneaking out the door behind the mess hall to join him in the back alley. The space was filled with crates and was usually reserved for poker games and drug trades that may as well be sanctioned by the weekend staff. Closed up tight the rest of the week and opened like clockwork over the weekend. The stolen goods from the day were bundled up tight by his feet and Charles raised an eyebrow as Arthur nudged the bag aside with a foot to make more room by his side, not even bothering to check the spoils. It was later than normal, darkness already creeping up on them after an especially long day that ran late after an unfortunate mite infestation in the broccoli plot.

“No idea.”

“Well, I’ll give you a little demonstration I guess.” From Arthur’s amused little smirk Charles could only brace himself. “Here,” Arthur grabbed his wrist and pulled him further down the alley way as Charles looked around for any witnesses.

“Mister.”

“Yes Arthur,” Charles said, glancing over to where Arthur had crowded against his side, the man giving him a glare when he failed to play along. But he was still half convinced other inmates would interrupt them, they usually made their hand offs fast before hurrying back to join the rest as the space was utilized by too many men.

“I ain’t this ‘Arthur’, just a stranger. But anyway…” Charles allowed himself being manhandled against the wall more firmly, somewhat appeased by the warm body pushed closer to nestle against him. He had a fairly good idea what Arthur had been asked, but even that couldn’t stop his pulse from quickening, partly in fear as they stood out in the open. He felt a little poke in the ribcage and looked down. Arthur was holding a single, half smoked cigarette between two fingers. He stared back in confusion. “If you let me fuck you good and moan like a good little lady, this is all yours.” Another poke of the stub of a smoke. And then Arthur broke down in laugher and pulled away suddenly, only set off more by Charle’s slack jawed expression. But the laughter was contagious, and he couldn’t help the chuckle his own, more at Arthur’s display of mirth than of the actual interaction.

“I’ll pass,” he said, receiving an indignant huff in stride. “So… did you take him up on it? You do have _this_ after all.” He asked, prying the smoke out of Arthur’s hand to inspect it. Much less tobacco than he had tucked away in his own jumpsuit.

“Obviously. How could I resist?” Charles snorted, leaning back against the stone wall next to Arthur, sparing a moment of worry for him.

“He won’t be a problem though, will he?” Arthur just shook his head.

“I could easily beat that flighty fella in a fight if it ever came to that. He was so damn embarrassed when I refused that he actually just gave me this, free of charge.” Charles grunted in acknowledgement, he’d seen Arthur in a fight before, had experienced that same frenzied violence.

“You wanna smoke it then? It’ll be a very rewardin’ five seconds,” Arthur asked. He hesitated, eying the glow of the doorway and finding I clear.

“Okay, but we’ll have to be fast, we only a few minutes left.”

“Marty’s on duty so I reckon’ that thirty minutes is more like an hour thirty- he’s got them all tied up in some sort of game anyways,” Arthur said, producing a match from his pocket and lighting up before Charles could offer up any more doubts. They both frowned down at the cigarette, odd smell springing up from the little ember.

“That’s not tobacco…” Charles said.

“No, I guess not- it’s somethin’ better. Here, you want some?” Arthur sounded delighted by the discovery, raising the nub to his lips and inhaling deeply and after a moment of hesitation Charles just nodded, he was feeling a bit high strung. Arthur made a pleased sound around it and wasted no time pressing closer and angling Charles chin towards him, giving him another chance to pull away. He didn’t, letting Arthur slot his lips flush against his own, fingers pulling at his chin, urging him to open his mouth to share the meager smoke, more acrid than expected but delightful in the relaxing lightness that suddenly washed over him. There wasn’t any tobacco to cut it, and the effect was stronger and more immediate than he remembered. Arthur curled a hand back around his neck, urging him closer to chase his lips with a deeper kiss before finally pulling back.

“Think we’re wasting more that way than just smoking it normal,” Charles said, hurrying to pluck the rapidly diminishing smoke towards himself and inhaling, feeling it hit him more deeply this time, filling his lungs. Arthur just grinned up at him dumbly as Charles reached over, nestling it up between his lips. “Here.”

“Maybe so but it just felt the thing to do,” Arthur said through his teeth, “Gave me an excuse,”

“Since when do you need an excuse?” he asked back, giddy as Arthur shrugged. They both grinned over the ashy remains dusting their pants, not affected in earnest from the meager offerings, but dancing along the edge, Charles finding himself less worried about whoever might stalk out into the night and more focused on the man leaning up against his hip. They passed the smoke back and forth till there was nothing left of it. Disappointly fast.

“Maybe I should of inquired more aggressively,” Arthur finally said, left hand tracing over his abs, light and teasing. “It’s like having a single sip of coffee before spillin’ it all over your boots. Then you have coffee on your boots and… what?” Charles had nudged him, holding out one of his own cigarettes, another already lit and resting between his lips. Something to distract him from the sudden urge to push Arthur right down on the ground, dusty as it was. He’d slot a leg between Arthur’s legs, trail a hand over his thigh- not quite giving him what he needed, just skirting that edge as he slotted himself at the man’s neck with teeth ghosting over his frantic heartbeat. It wouldn’t take much more than that to make him beg, nonsensical praises and demands. Arthur accepted the cigarette easily, taking a drag and sighing in relief. “Thanks. What was I sayin’?” Charles blinked out of his thoughts.

“Something about your boots, I think…,” Arthur stared back at him in confusion. “And about aggressive inquiries to your horny friend. I sure hope you mean threatening him with bodily harm though… I’ve never seen so many desperate men here,” Charles admitted then flushed how bad that sounded, sending Arthur off to bully other prisoners for contraband. It made an amusing picture though, his nerve endings alight from the sudden proximity and smoky haze wrapping around them both.

“I have,” Arthur mumbled into his shoulder while continuing to knead uselessly at his stomach like a cat, “but I know what you mean, all these poor bastards are just comin’ to terms with the fact they’re gonna die without ever fuckin’ around again ‘cept if they expand their options. Poor bastards must be hard for them- havin’ to resort to bendin’ over for their cellmates for once. I think-.”

Charles never got to learn what Arthur thought, as he finally gave in the pressing heat, looping his arms around Arthur’s oddly contorted hips to pulled them together properly, cutting him off with a sudden kiss of his own that Arthur immediately leaned into, responding slow and lethargic. At odds with Charles’s own hurried move to pull his jumpsuit open and get a hand around him- his fantasy of dragging this out and lavishing Arthur with slow deliberate affection an impossibility now.

“Shit Charles,” he panted into his mouth, fumbling with Charles’s suit ineffectually as Charles jerked him off, “right out here?” As if he hadn’t been the one to start all this by cornering him there and droning on about fucking.

“I miss you,” he responded simply, finally just tearing the buttons of his own suit and hurriedly grabbing them both together, stroking them together. Arthur was clearly more affected, if the uncharacteristic clumsiness was any indication, unable to do much at all as Charles wrapped his other arm around him to pull him closer.

The fact that he even noticed the approaching guard under such circumstances spoke of his years of vigilance, but he was less than graceful as pulled back from Arthur, hitting his own head against the stone was in the process. He found wide eyes staring up at him in betrayal. For god’s sake, the man looked like Charle’s had just done something unforgiveable.

“Why’d you-” He clamped a hand over the beginning of Arthur’s loud complaints.

“There’s a guard,” he hissed quietly turning Arthur’s head and pointing over to the uniformed man strolling along, not hundred feet away from the grate before settling back against the water tower with a smoke of his own. Too close for comfort.

“I don’t care,” Arthur said with that same dopey grin and he pried the offending hand off his face. Charles just looked back at him exasperated, and still impossibly hard, especially with Arthur rocking forward in defiance, looping his hands to grip his back from beneath his own arms and nuzzling at his neck in such open adoration that Charles almost gave in right then, especially when Arthur rolled him hips against him, hard. 

“Arthur, ah… Over there, okay?” Arthur gave some sort of noise as Charles nodded to the other side of the alley where the metal bars gave way to more solid stone on both sides. But after an incessant pat to the back, he submitted to stumbling back a step, the loss of friction between them enough almost enough for Charles to give up discretion completely and haul Arthur back onto him.

“Where?” Arthur groaned, skeptical, electing to just stare down at Charles unabashed, dilated eyes finding nothing to complain about now. Charles just grabbed his hand and pulled him closer to the door, closer ever to the light but further from the offending guard.

He stopped shy of the door with Arthur trailing behind, and Charles wasted no time pushing Arthur up against the wall of just outside of the glow of the mess hall face first, pinning his chest to the cold stone surface with a one forearm. Arthur cursed, surprised as Charles immediately reached back around him to resume his attentions, slotting himself behind him.

“We have to be quiet” Charles said, the warning just as much for himself as the solid man before him, who was trying his best to push back against him despite the tight hold. He rocked his hips forward against Arthur and was rewarded with a nod and a cut off groan, holding back sounds of his own at the tension of Arthur’s rough jumpsuit against his bare skin.

“Yeah, course… I can do that,” Arthur said softly, hitching as Charles angled upwards, shoving Arthur further against into the wall, forearms flattening as he braced himself, face pressed downwards towards his collarbone in attempt to muffle himself. Low voices chattered from within the hall, but they felt miles away as the warm glow of the electric lights peaked out around them, slivers of lightening thin light shooting out from the little gaps in the crates before them. The loose dirt beneath their work boots skidded under Arthur’s leg, threatening to topple the man if not for sudden tight hold of Charles’s gripping onto his hips.

He made to apologize at the unconscious drag of stone against Arthur, but it just made the man writhe back harder against him with a hiss that wasn’t displeased.

“Charles,” Arthur whined softly, something revenant and soft to the name, “do that again, feels good.”

He nodded into Arthur’s neck and responded by gently rutting up into him, pushing him forward again but not as roughly, testing the waters as he worried about hurting the man. But another especially hard thrust had Arthur nodding in affirmation.

Charles gasped against him, wanting nothing more than to tear Arthur free of the damn jumpsuit and fill him like they both wanted, to grab hold of his hips and keep him steady as he fucked him silly. But they had no slick, no time to open Arthur up as thoroughly as he’d need after so long. Since that night in the woods so long ago.

“Wish I could fuck you properly,” he found himself admitting, voice hushed against Arthur’s nape and if the immediate frantic nodding and renewed movement was anything to go by, Arthur would probably even let him as they were. But they’d surely not get that far even if they were prepared, if the stuttering of Arthur’s hips was any indication. He freed one hand and wrapped it around Arthur again, this time not even managing to start a steady pace before Arthur was on the edge.

And with just a couple more firm few strokes, Arthur was spilling down the wall with a low keen. Charles worked him through it, not letting up until Arthur was twitching on the edge of overstimulation, hardness still thick up against the cleft of his ass, still clothed and rough. His own hips stuttered, it was all too much, Arthur now soft against him.

“Charles, I can…” but Arthur didn’t have a chance to offer whatever he’d been planning, the tightness finally too much for Charles as he came against him, reveling in the dirty overspent moan Arthur offered into the wall, pulling away to streak the ground between their feet. 

Arthur didn’t resist as Charles turned him around to pull him into a deep kiss, even now guiding their hips together to chase any lingering closeness. It was with much hesitancy that Charles finally pulled back, the reality of their situation sinking in and pushing him towards caution. They hurried to button their clothing but he stopped Arthur as he turned to head in, straightening hair wildly clumped at his nape for him. Arthur just let him, smiling sweetly back at him. Charles was too wrapped up in the look to even hear the footsteps until it was too late. 

“The fuck are you two doing out?” the guard asked in bafflement, clearly drunken eyes darting between the two of them in confusion, falling to the rumpled clothing and general dishevelment of them both with a little sniff.

“I fell and hurt my leg,” Arthur said, hurriedly.

“What?”

“We didn’t mean no harm, I was just havin’ a hard time walkin’ and um… Joshua helped me up.” The man looked completely out of his depth and fearful of all things. Not angry, no warning glare of ensuring violence. Just fear.

“Well shit… That’s not good. Not good.” The mess hall was empty, save the three of them and when Charles peered back out the open door, he saw the crowd, plodding along at am ambling pace. “Shit!” How’s the leg now?”

“What?”

“Your leg, you said you hurt it.”

“Right. It’s fine.”

“Well then, hurry- before I get in trouble because of you.”

He opened main door, pushing them out and towards the group without even securing their shackles, and for a second, the were free, staring at each other as countless opportunities arose around them- still in that hazy pleasure from their stolen moments together. But then the bright lights illuminating the whole perimeter and distant barking of dogs withered that little spark, and suddenly he feared expanse between them and the rest of the prisoners. Thoughts of the alligators swimming circles around the whole damn island. Arthur ran along by his side, not even mentioning escape as they skidded to a halt behind a few very confused prisoners.

“The fuck you off the chain?” one of the guards asked as the group finally reached their destination, shoving Arthur aside to find Charles was also off. “Edwards!” He yelled out angrily, gun drawn and trained on Arthur as the burly fellow who looked about as sober as Marty had. “You didn’t secure these prisoners correctly, you absolute fuckwit.”

“I didn’t even…” Edwards trailed off, pausing before the three of them in confusion as the older man tapped his foot impatiently. Marty hung back as his partner was chastised before the snickering prisoners.

“Prisoners, move along.” They shuffled along into the bunk room with the rest of the men, with a gun to their backs. 

“Think we just made an enemy?” Charles asked.

“Don’t care, I love Saturdays,” Arthur whispered over to him with a grin, “let’s escape on a Saturday when we’ve got nothin’ but ‘fuckwits’ watchin’ over us.” They both turned back to see Marty staring them down in relieved exasperation, arms crossed over his chest through the open door, and Arthur, in his infinite wisdom, decided to wink back at him.

-

Charles spent the next week cursing himself for not taking the chance and attempting escape that very night, dragging Arthur right through the damn moat. But the more rational, self-preserving portion of his brain thanked himself every day he still got to laugh over nothing and find the odd moment of happiness. There were no more chances to escape together over the following two weeks, alleyway all shut up and Marty only present in the company of another guard, refusing to meet either of their gazes or even talk to them. Work in the field continued, the proper callouses finally established. It was after a truly unspectacular day of hard work whenever Officer Taft had no words of rewards for him that the next boatful of prisoners arrived. And just like that, the chaotic but predictable prison routine was blown apart.

The first surprise to Charles came in the face of an all too familiar stranger, paraded in through those massive front gates to a less than welcoming wall of men on their trek towards the fields. Some were quick to mutter racist filth under their breath while others seemed more taken with the man in his neat clothing and pretty face, calling out to him shamelessly despite the angry snarl he offered them. It was the man who’d blown a hole in the Annesburg county jail to pull Micah to safety. Dutch’s man, in the flesh. Charles went suddenly cold, envisioning the man stranded meters beneath the ground, breaking under their questioning and claiming that one unfortunate truth- that Charles was never with Dutch, that he had no clue who he was at all. The man’s eyes scanned over the crowd in distaste, stilled over Charles for a second. But then he was gone, marching away with another few men to be prepared for their new life. Charles didn’t recognize the other, but he supposed there could be more of Dutch’s associates among them.

It was another few tense days before the new men were fed into the general population of the jail, and Javier Escuella was not one of them, despite the crazy tales that had spread to the furthest corners of the prison about him and the rest of the bank robber. He’d heard different versions. According to the aged cook Finnian, the bank robbery had been carried out by just a few men, masked and armed to the teeth- successful as it was bloody. According to Officer Taft, it’d ended without only a very small fortune lifted, in failure and embarrassment for all men involved. But regardless of the storyteller, everyone agreed that Dutch van der Linde had been at the heart of the robbery with a hoard of men bigger than Arthur had ever mentioned, only to disappear afterwards as if into thin air. It seemed the whole city sung for their blood though, outraged at the sheer number of innocent shopkeepers and innocents caught in the crossfire. Arthur was even more agitated than normal. Fixated on finding Escuella and forcing information out of him ‘however he could.’

According to Taft, it was a great success for the advocates of civil order when just a week after the Saint Denis bank robbery, another unrelated gang was taken down in the surrounding town of Rhodes and shipped like cattle to this factory of a prison, another set of bloodstained hands to give penance through back-breaking work. The mess hall suddenly went from their one haven of relative peace to an overpacked holding cell, the sheer number of prisoners clogging up the food line and sparse seating enough to push even the most calm and acclimated long timers into angry scuffles.

The new men hung together that first day, a few dirty looks aimed at him and Arthur, but nobody challenged them to any fights or demanded their food. Just the considering gazes of a dozen strangers, wary and calculating and quick to flit away as soon as they were caught. All except one man. He was older with lank brown hair hanging around his face and into his eyes. He’d been staring at Arthur since his arrival, but when he caught Charles looking back at him, he didn’t even bother averting his eyes, instead challenging and succeeding in making him look away first.

“Arthur,” Charles asked quietly, trying to school his face to blankness as he felt those eyes continue to roam over them.

“What?” he’d picked up on something, and before Charles could think to stop him, he turned his head to look at whatever was so distressing, freezing as he noticed the man. “Shit.”

“What? Who is that?”

“Colm.”

“Who’s Colm?”

“Colm O’Driscoll,” he sounded less than happy as he named the man in a voice that seemed to imply Charles would suddenly understand what he was talking about. He shook his head. “He’s Dutch’s worst enemy- they’ve been playin’ at blood feuds for the last, let’s say three years or so. Right after he stole away Dutch’s ‘woman’,” he finished the statement sarcastically, voice filled with disdain. And once again Charles was struck by just how different Arthur’s world was, so similar yet so much more congested and weighed down.

“So he has reason to kill us both?” Charles asked hurriedly as Arthur began curling in on himself in discomfort. Maybe a stranger would miss it, but he’d been working to decipher this man for months, and now, he was scared. Charles was at least a foot taller and much stronger than the wispy man, but Colm had arrived with an entire entourage of hardened men by his side feet and was already sitting at the head of the bench like some sort of ruler. Like he owned the place seconds after arriving. 

“No, not exactly,” Arthur said hesitantly, “I may have helped him way back then, though Dutch never knew the half of it.”

“ _Arthur_ ,” he whispered frantically, “he’s coming over here.” Arthur grimaced again, though he made no move to look behind him at the approaching man.

“Sorry Charles. Don’t think he’ll be outright dangerous to us now, but this certainly won’t be no fun. Don’t let ‘im work you up none,” he said, taking a deep breath himself as if to internalize that same warning.

“Arthur Morgan, it’s good to see you.” There was entirely too much force behind the pat to Arthur’s shoulder and the ensuing squeeze, a sliminess to the voice that had Charles hard pressed to resist making a face of his own. There was plenty of room to the side of Arthur to sit, but Colm elected to just settle right by his shoulder, entirely too close as he looked down on them both blandly.

“Hello Colm.”

“Fancy seeing a man like you in a place like this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I think I’m just the sort of man you’d expect to find in this cesspit, I’m right at home.”

“I just mean your timing is impeccable, I was just looking for somebody trustworthy who knows the ropes around here- then here you are, practically dropping into my lap,” Charles had to work to keep his jaw from dropping at the pointed words, practically announced to the room. To the lot of fellow O’Driscolls trying to hide their clear interest in the conversation.

“Lucky you. How’s Annabelle?” Arthur finally asked, a hardness to the question.

“Well she ain’t _here_. But she seemed fine enough when I left her last- screaming up a storm as they took me in. But alive enough for squealing’s always a good sign, wouldn’t you say?,”

Arthur shrugged, looking away. “Dutch seemed to think you killed her,” it came out like a question.

“And what do _you_ think? I know you were never one to think for yourself, but your daddy don’t seem to be here nowhere.”

“I…” He paused. “I reckon’ you had no reason to kill a loyal girl like that- she loved you and hated him. Don’t see no reason to off someone like that, barrin’ by accident...” Arthur rubbed at his neck but when Charles dared to look up at the stranger, those piercing gray eyes jumped to his own.

“Very true. And who’s this? Another one of Dutch’s dogs?” Arthur looked conflicted at that, nodding noncommittally.

“Known Joshua a little while now.”

“That so?” Charles nodded. 

“Well I’ve always got more room for men, if they’re trustworthy and strong and I doubt my stay here will be too long,” he turned back to Arthur, “I’ll be seeing you around then Arthur?”

“Sure…” he responded, eyes glued to the floor as the man walked off. Silence hung in the air between them as the seconds passed by before the dam suddenly broke and Arthur was speaking at an alarming rate.

“Shit Charles, I think Dutch was right. Think that bastard killed her, bet he strangled her to death and left her for the buzzards.”

“Woah, slow down. Who is she?”

“Annabelle, she was older than me- but not by much. Helped teach me a few things at one point, under Dutch’s recommendation.”

“Part of your gang then?”

“Kinda. She was his whore. He was always making wild claims ‘bout how he loved her after she left him for Colm, but Dutch’d kept her with us long after she wanted to go. Only fight I ever got in with her was when I tried to defend Dutch’s character. Told her he was a good man with rough edges, all that shit.” He gave a mirthless chuckle, embarrassed. “Whenever she’d mention headin’ off to work as a seamstress, or in a library or any of the other damn things she wanted to try out he’d get all quiet, then call her ungrateful, trap her by using her own words against her, if that makes any damn sense. So when she came to say goodbye to me, that she was going to run of with Colm, I figured it had to be better than Dutch and I helped her meet up with him. Dutch ain’t so kind to woman you know, despite his obsession with ‘em.” It was jumbled and disjointed, but Charles understood. Arthur had opposed Dutch and helped another person escape his clutches, even while he himself was fully under them. Sweet as always, and surely guilty as could be with her possible death hanging over him like that.

“Hey, just breathe.” Arthur took a breath. “Your friend, why do you think he killed her?”

“She weren’t one to ‘squeal,’ or scream. When she got real scared… well it don’t matter now. I just think she’s dead is all. He treated us both real rough one time after, I’d gone up to visit her.”

“You slept with him?” Charles asked, without thinking. But Arthur just looked furious at the question, that came out more rhetorical than intended.

“What? Why does it matter? Because I really don’t see how it’s any of your business.” Arthur was right, it wasn’t just curiosity tinging his question- and he immediately hated Colm.

“I’m just worried, you seem almost scared of the man.”

“Course I’m scared of him- he’s like Dutch. Worse that Dutch but similar in a way- he plays games with folk and doesn’t much care when people get killed in the process. Even when Dutch killed his brother, he just kind of laughed down at the bloody mess- he used a shotgun on the man’s head mind you- but the man didn’t even flinch.”

Arthur seemed to deflate at that, glare never leaving his face. “But to answer your question, no, he ain’t never fuck me. He just knew too much for comfort and made sure I’d never forget that he knew. Thought he could taunt Dutch with that information but jokes on him, Dutch was the one that convinced me into all that in the first place.”

Charles almost reached for his hand, desperate to somehow make this mess better but he couldn’t. Even their hushed conversation was probably enough to turn heads. And there were a lot of those now.

“We’ll be alright,” Arthur offered, finally calming himself down somewhat, “just be careful is all, don’t offend the guy and it’ll be fine. He’s smart at least, with lots of experience escaping the rope- smart enough to maybe help us out of here if we play it right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's way too much smoking of all forms in this chapter, but that is a traditional prison currency. Right?


	22. Chapter 22

The prison was the domain of those young and strong enough to pull food from the ground day after day without their backs giving out. Most of the older men and those too risky to let outdoors had simply been strung up or forgotten under the prison. But with Colm’s sudden appearance, it was as if old loyalties and alliances suddenly sprung forth from nowhere, an odd tension sweeping across the prison. The remaining long-timers who were previously calm and more engaged in poker games and their dealings in contraband goods than feuds suddenly struggled to regain hold over their own men. Posturing to an almost embarrassing level became the norm, men puffing out their chests, suddenly chatty about their own crimes and pasts. Of their body counts and old jobs. All for Colm’s inspection and regard- a man who looked like the wind could blow him over sending a whole room full of men into a frenzy. Arthur told him just what the man was capable in a hushed voice, solemnly recounting dark stories that seemed almost bizarrely sadistic. He began to dread the day Colm called on them, almost more than the impending hanging.

Their own isolation had never seemed as obvious or dangerous, unattached officially but under the watchful gaze of Colm nonetheless. All the chains of association with none of the protections, even as tensions ran high all around them. The angry grumblings from the prisoners sharing his work duty grew and grew until the whispers were almost a constant presence. Taft seemed clueless to those looks, to the mounting tension long in the making- the clump of dirt thrown his way, someone spitting insults at him under their breaths. It finally came to a head one day when Charles accidently bumped into another man while collecting a crate full of beets. It'd been a ground squirrel of all things, distracting him from the job at hand. A small oddity that his numb brain latched onto after weeks of mundane labor. 

“Where I’m from, that’d earn you a few lashes. Damn crazy around here." It took him a moment to realize the man had been talking to him, for the words to fully sink in.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he hissed.

“You know exactly what I mean,” the man said right back looking madder than ever, provoked by almost nothing, fists balled up by his side, “makes no sense that _you're_ the one man who gets to wander around off this damn leash.” Charles hadn’t planned on it, had heard worse, but it was all too much. Waiting for Colm to make his move, their failed plans for escape, harassment from this random man. He dropped the crate and prepared to give the man the fight he wanted, suddenly furious.

“Hey!” Charles had never seen Taft move so fast, darting over to them while whipping his head around wildly. “What are you fools doing?” Impressively, he arrived just in time to stop the blow Charles had intended for the man’s face, grabbing his arm from behind and pulling him backwards hard enough that they both almost toppled over.

“This fucker pushed me, I didn’t do nothing,” the other man growled, spitting on the ground and narrowly missing Taft’s boot. “He thinks he’s better than us-”

“I don’t care who started it, I’m ending it!” Taft warned, stepping between them bodily. “This isn’t going to be a problem is it?” he asked, eyes locked onto Charles, daring him to act. Charles looked away, shook his head.

“No.”

“That’s what I thought, all of you, back to work! Three extra crates tonight!” The rest of the men groaned, angry and sore. And for once, Taft watched them work for the duration of the day, clearing his throat if any of them so much as looked at one another.

“I’m winning the damn bet, you’d best believe it. But this is your one and only warning, if anyone else saw that I’d have no choice but give you up. Sure you would’ve won that fight, but that would _not_ have been good for you. Or me. Understand?”

He nodded with a glare, hardly more patience for Taft than the other man- him and his damn bet. It had been a tense day and he was happy to finally get back to the safety of his cell an hour later than normal, to the least threatening company imaginable. He’d missed Arthur completely though and had been sent to his cell filthy, without food, and ashamed to have lost his temper. 

-

Colm gave them space for a few more days, hanging back in the dining hall with his own men as him and Arthur waited tensely in their own corner, picking at their food while trying to distract each other with anything- a story about a horse, plans for the future, advice for tending to their blisters with limited resources. And when Colm finally called on Arthur it was through a proxy, a large man with a ratty beard the chosen messenger. A man who’d been here since before Charles and Arthur and kept to himself, working without complaint or drama- now already at the beck and call of this new gang leader, clawing for a stranger's approval

“Colm wants to talk to you,” the man said, the words oddly hesitant as Arthur turned a withering look on him. Charles sometimes forgot how people saw Arthur, of the mask that was never turned to him, even at their most volatile. He was handsome sure, but he was also a large man with more scars than most, sharp eyes just as likely to pin you with disdain as friendliness. Practiced after years of dealing with all manner of enemy.

“Can he not walk or somethin’? Sendin’ you over here to fetch me.” None of the fear Charles had seen painted across his face days back, he seemed almost angry now, at this inconsequential messenger. Some nearby men went quiet, watching the display with badly concealed interest.

The man recentered his weight and tried again, “he’s got a lot to do and can’t waste time running around.” An awkward silence followed, as if Arthur was truly considering the offer. Charles knew he’d take it, he had no real choice given the circumstances, but he certainly wasn’t feigning any excitement.

“Yeah he must be _real_ busy, getting all these fools to kiss his ass like that.” Charles was tempted to stomp on Arthur’s foot under the table, probably would if he could be confident it wouldn’t surprise an embarrassing noise out him. But even then, the man didn’t lash out, sulking but refusing to refute the charge as Colm sat across the room, watching the exchange with that same beady eyed gaze Charles had learned to hate. He was a creepy fellow if he’d ever seen one, calculating and unashamed in it.

“He won’t be too pleased if you keep him waiting.” And from the man’s almost desperate tone, Colm wouldn’t be too pleased with him either if Arthur chose to stall any longer.

“Reckon I can hear him out at least,” Arthur said finally, and quieter to Charles, “Off to kiss ass,” before hefting himself from the table with a long-suffering sigh. There was a curious sense of relief on his face though, as he prepared for the cards to finally be thrown down on the table before him.

“Lucky you,” he replied, trying to keep the annoyance that he’d gotten no summons down, completely ignored by the skittish fellow. He wasn’t in a hurry to converse with Colm, but the deliberate exclusion was palpable, and he struggled to resist stare at their receding backs. It got harder and harder though, as the minutes ticked by slowly.

It was the laughter that forced his head to turn minutes later, a light and airy sound that had no place in the mess hall, too pleasant entirely for a man like Colm. He snuck a glance to find Colm clapping Arthur on the back, oddly paternal as his goons looked on in confusion- voice too loud to be accidental. 

“Arthur Morgan, in all my years I don’t think I’ve been able to cause as much grief to that man as you. His own damn son, fucking him over at every turn and stealing everything out from under him, his woman, his money, his men!” He sobered, finally smirking over at Charles. “Makes me wonder though, if that’s how you treat the man who fed you…” A loud condemnation to the whole room that Arthur Morgan was disloyal, prone to traitorous inclinations. It was about the worst damage he could inflict before this audience of prisoners and guards alike, and Charles gritted his teeth.

“Dutch ain’t never fed me,” Arthur said, just as loud, with more conviction than any actor could manage. “It was always the other way around. _Always_. A leader who don’t look out for their own men ain’t any real type of leader.” The tension of the room was at an all-time high, Charles saw one guard with one hand already on his baton, prisoners with too tight a hold on their blunt spoons. But if the bored prisoners had been banking on a fight to amuse them, they were sorely disappointed. Colm and Arthur just considered each other for a few moments, as if trying their best to read the other’s minds. It was Colm who finally extended an arm, but with his poise and the almost mocking glint in his eyes it came across more as an order than a concession. Arthur had no choice, reaching back and making that silent deal.

-

“He’s testin’ me. In more ways than one, I just don’t have any damn clue what his game is other than gettin’ every damn man in here to hate me.”

“Our prospects are awful either way so maybe it won’t make much of a difference,” Charles offered, trying for nonchalance, “but I can’t say I like the man from what you’ve told me, and it seems the feeling is mutual.”

“I don’t know ‘bout that,” Arthur said, stretching in time with a yawn, “seems more like he’s tryin’ to take any power we’ve got. He knows we’ve been together this whole time and he wants us unbalanced and scared, quick to agree and fall into his traps.”

“A charming picture.”

“Yeah. And that bastard just blew up the whole Dutch story, no doubt every damn guard in this place is already spreadin’ that conversation around. Shit. If he pulls you aside… Ah hell, think you’d have less of an issue with the man than I did.”

“Why’s that?” So far, it seemed the opposite, Colm not even deigning to speak with him properly.

“You don’t have history with him, no bad blood,” Arthur considered him, struggling over his words, “and you’re less… off-putting.”

“Off putting?” He asked, “what are you talking about?” 

“Ah, nothing- don’t worry, I’m just… ” It was then, when he reached over to Arthur’s collar to straighten it that he noticed the slight tremble to his shoulders. Something that seemed to make Arthur even more distant and embarrassed. “I’ll be okay. He was right though, it don’t look good- I did betray Dutch long before last year, always sneakin’ around. I didn’t mean too much by it at the time. Arthur was struggling, the emotions conflicting on his face.

“But Dutch betrayed you right back,” Charles said bluntly, “and you were just trying to help your friend.” Arthur was staring at him like he’d grown a second head, like he himself hadn’t just criticized and rejected his old leader a few minutes before.

“Yeah but- it’s sweet how quickly you wanna defend me virtue,” the smile was forced, but he was clearly trying.

“Well it’s definitely not you’re _virtue_ I’m defending. I’m just saying you shouldn’t let Colm mess with you over van der Linde, Dutch isn’t here.”

-

In the beginning, working for Colm wasn’t an issue. Arthur’s first job was hardly any effort, an easy extension of what they’d already been doing for weeks. Grabbing some more food for him, carrots, potatoes, and whatever else they could get their hands on. Then cigarettes. In return, Arthur got news from Saint Denis- a smuggled newspaper with all manner of information of the bank robbery. And he got the unspoken admittance to their little gang and the assumed protections that went along with that. He was in an even weirder place, clearly allied to Arthur, but not yet officially bound to Colm. 

It was after a week of fetching the meager assortment of belongings that he was finally tasked with a more specific item. Colm wanted a pocket watch and Charles could only roll his eyes at the entitlement. 

But with a deep breath and final word with Arthur, he approached Brady in the off chance his hoarder of an inmate had something fitting the description hidden away in his wall. But at least according to his word, he had nothing like that- pipes, jewelry, and a small portrait of a naked woman sure, but no watches.

“No luck,” Charles admitted in the showers the next day. “Why does he even need one? The sun is perfectly fine for telling time, especially with this unnatural weather.”

Arthur just shrugged. “He didn’t say. Maybe it’s a loyalty test to see if I’ll actually follow his orders like a good little dog or maybe he just likes bossin’ me around.”

“Well, I’ve seen a few of the guards with them, but that hardly seems worth the risk.”

“But what else am I supposed to say? Sorry Colm, I don’t really want to help you or your giant gang of killers steal from armed guards who want nothin’ more than excuse to lay me out. That would go over well.”

“I’ll do it then.”

“What?”

“Since when have you pickpocketed _anything_?” Charles asked, “because it seems to me that you’re usually one to go for a more direct approach.”

“That’s worked pretty well so far,” he said with a sly look which Charles pointedly ignored.

“Officer Taft. You cause a distraction like usual and I’ll set my sights on more than just carrots, then I’ll hand it off later.”

“You sure?”

“Why not? He’s a pushover.” Countless reasons cycled through his head, but Arthur was kind enough to not answer.

“Just be careful, I’ll lose it completely if somethin’ happens to you over some damn watch. I can’t wait to receive our payment- a single pat on the back and five kernels of corn.” Charles just looked over him with a fond sigh, already thinking about how he’d snatch the goods and hoping that against all odds Colm would stick to small time requests like this.

-

Charles had been nervous all morning, since their meager breakfast and final quick goodbye in the mess hall earlier. When he was finally let off the chain to collect the crates, he positioned himself close to Taft, eying his pants. Only to realize the watch wasn’t there all, the timepiece was tucked into his breast pocket right under his chin. He focused downwards on the soil and their daily goals, Taft unknowingly mocking him by checking the damn thing. He’d just have to tell Arthur he aborted the plan. That they’d have to look elsewhere.

He met Arthur’s eyes from across their plots, receiving a questioning thumbs up. He answered with a shake of his head. Negative. Arthur offered to distract the man with another hand hurried movement. He shook his head, there was no distraction Arthur could offer that’d make the man forget to watch his own chest. There were limits to these things and years on the streets had taught him all too well. Had they both been pedestrians on a busy city street, crashing into each other in a distracted flurry, he might be able to manage it with a well-timed apology and pat to the chest. But now, with the man watching them from his perch on the wagon there was little opportunity for games like that. He also couldn’t forget how quickly Taft had jumped into action a week before, stopping the fight seconds before it began.

It was hours later while he was loading the cart again with a second layer of crates that the idea struck him, eyes scanning over the water pail by chance- the communal bucket Taft allowed them to drink from. He hardly had time to think through the implications of a physical assault of an officer. Before he knew it, Charles sent himself forward, tripping over nothing and throwing the bucket forward directly at Taft. He hardly felt the mud hitting his knees as he fell straight into it. 

The bellow was somewhat cut off as water soaked the man’s face and chest, his face showing more surprise than anger as he gaped down at Charles. Who aspired to look as pitiful as possible, spitting out a clump of soil with a grimace.

“What in tarnation?” Taft shouted, shaking himself off in bewilderment.

“Sorry Officer,” he managed, not needing to feign the fear now, the porty man suddenly towering over him with his boot uncomfortably close to his face. All the prisoners had stopped their work, the entire group in a standoff of sorts, a sick sort of satisfaction on Addison’s face as he waited for Charles to finally be brought down a peg. But after a few more curses and a final shake of his head that reminded Charles of Copper, Taft extended an arm to him and cursed again as he hefted Charles up to his feet again.

“You’re damn lucky I didn’t shoot you out of pure instinct. Jesus. I’m starting to think there’s something wrong with you boy, something at a fundamental level.”

“Really sorry sir, I don’t know what I tripped over,” he looked down at his feet at the muddy weeds. Taft took off the coat and hung it up to dry on the back of the cart just as Charles planned. But before he left, he made sure to riffle through the coat pocket for the watch, before tucking it into his pants pockets and leaving an empty wet shell behind. Not a complete failure, but not the easy job he’d set himself up for.

He’d done this dozens of times before though, nimbly snatching up all manners of things from men’s pockets. He couldn’t distract Taft again, that would be too memorable, too suspicious. He’d need to wait. He focused on finishing loading the cart and waited for an opportunity with the same patience as on a hunt. It took longer than expected, a good hour before the little metallic case worked its way close enough for Charles to strike and he felt almost guilty as he easily snatched the thing up, Taft no wiser as he smoked in boredom, still wet and muddy.

He coughed once, nothing. Arthur was busy in a conversation with another man at his side, laughing over something and fully distracted. So Charles looked for a rock, something small but with enough heft to go the distance. He finally found one and with a quick survey of the nearby guards, he launched the pebble, watching as it flew in a clean arch. From the pained shout and flinch, he could tell he’d hit Arthur’s friend dead in the back of the head.

Arthur look up, locking onto him immediately and after staring at what Charles presumed was the giant muddy mess that was his jumpsuit. He gave the little thumbs up and received a silent cheer from the next plot over.

Charles couldn’t help the fear he felt for the next couple hours on the job, that Taft would reach down for his pocket watch and find himself empty pocketed as well as waterlogged. But luck was finally on his side and Taft finally released them from work duty with little more than a hurried wave and a final grunt of ‘clumsy bastard’ to Charles, before ditching their party with Arthur’s officer for the trek back. After some shuffling and a death glare from Addison, Charles ended up walking side by side with Arthur. Who looked ecstatic- especially as he took in all the mud and general disarray.

“Looks like you took a rather direct route there, _Joshua_ ,” he finally concluded, chipping away at some of the hardened patches on his forearm. “You’re filthy.”

He shrugged, only a little embarrassed as Arthur continued to poke at him and attempt to pry up another mud clot. “Taft complicated things a bit.”

“Seems like that’s all law’s good for, complicatin’ things. Don’t worry though, the man’s married.”

“Taft? Who would marry someone so lazy?”

“No, just my friend you tried to stone to death earlier, in your jealous rage. I had to come up with some crazy idea why you was hurlin’ rocks at him.”

“That’s…sorry about your _friend_ then, I didn’t mean to hit him. Was aiming at you actually.” He handed over the watch and Arthur took it after a quick glance around them.

“I get it. If you can’t have me, nobody can.” Charles looked pointedly across the dirt path to where Arthur’s work mate was walking. He was probably at least twenty years older than Arthur, somehow even muddier than Charles with a truly unfortunate mustache sticking out from his gaunt face in all directions. The man suddenly cleared his throat loudly, spitting phlegm to the side with a final little hacking grunt. Charles looked back at Arthur, who just about doubled over in laughter, halting his chain gang’s march to the ire of them all.

“Shit, sorry,” Arthur called, not able to fully hide the laughter in his voice.

It was the scathing glare of another of Arthur’s workmates that gave Charles pause- a large, intimidating man near at height with Charles.

“Who’s that,” he whispered to Arthur as they continued towards prison buildings.

“Don’t worry ‘bout him. He’s just a real nasty son of a bitch, sometimes I think he’s plottin’ to stab me,” Arthur said, not sounding concerned. Charles sobered up real quick though, the enemies seemed to just be piling up at their feet. His thoughts turned to Colm again.

“That’s an encouraging thought… Even if Colm comes up with some genius plan to escape, why would he get us in on it? Because we snatched him a watch and some beets? Seems like he’s just playing with us- or you rather,” Charles asked, mood somewhat soured. He was worried Arthur would take offense to the dry assessment, but he just nodded back thoughtfully.

“Guess I’m just bankin’ on the fact that he’ll find us more useful than folks like that bumblin’ fool he set on me. And that the grudge he’s holdin’ over Dutch means somethin’. Just imagine, the look on Dutch’s face when some asinine article reports that we’ve joined forces with his arch enemy!” It was as if in one moment Arthur was sucked down into a bottomless pool of guilt over Dutch and the next reveling in the same thing. That night, Arthur talked to Colm the whole half hour dinner break, no time to report back to Charles at all.

After the long conversation, Charles wasn’t expecting Arthur to be great spirits, but the next day when he saw him, he looked like he hadn’t slept at all, dark bags under his eyes. Charles was quick to think the worst, blood chilling as he considered Colm and all his sliminess and the sharp fear he seemed to provoke in Arthur.

“Colm?” he asked quietly. They’d found a corner of the mess hall clear of people, still within sight but certainly not in hearing distance. Luckily, Colm wasn’t out today. A few of his men sure, but the man himself was missing, spot left empty as if even in his absence men deferred to him. Arthur nodded.

“Finally got a real job from the bastard. He wants me to kill a man,” Arthur admitted, reaching into his sleeve and pulling out four inches of roughly sharpened steel that looked at if it’d been part of a windowsill in a past life. “Stab him out in the fields…” It took a moment to process that information, that somehow things had jumped from petty theft to murder.

“You can’t be serious,” Charles said, incredulous. “And what exactly is he promising you for becoming his personal _assassin_.” Arthur drew the metal back into his sleeve, flinching back from the sharp words.

“I wasn’t! Just listen, I don’t want to kill nobody!” Charles backed down instantly, chastised by Arthur’s response. “But if I don’t do it, it’ll be someone else- it sounds like the guy tried to snitch on him, though if he has real dirt or just more lies, I can’t say.”

“So you kill him in broad daylight, then take the fall for Colm? That’s his great plan that’s supposed to inspire loyalty in you and the rest of the men?”

“He told me to be subtle, right as we’re coming in from the fields- he wants you to distract the guards.”

Charles snorted, “I never even had a whole conversation with the man and now he’s sending you with instructions for me? He’s just trying to get us caught.”

“I don’t think so, I think he really thinks I’ll do it given my history.” Charles gave him a look and eventually he responded, “I did tell you I ran a few jobs for him, right?” He nodded, he'd implied it at least. “It weren’t murder, but I did collect a few debts for the man, collected some money off some random farmers and trappers. That type of thing. But I ain’t doin’ this.” It was awkward after that confession, the two of them staring at each other in discomfort. It wasn’t as if Charles was under the illusion that Arthur had a straightforward past, but still- he was a debt collector?

“I guess our association with Colm may be about over then?” Charles finally offered, hoping desperately that Arthur agreed despite the consequences of a second betrayal. 

“Seems like it. Unless you wanna shank a man for me tomorrow,” Arthur said, a bitter little smile lighting his face. He really didn’t, the mere thought of carrying out such an order for a man like Colm made him sick to his stomach.

-

They didn’t say much the next morning, nor did they eat more than a bite or two. Colm himself mostly left them alone, but even so that same gaze was on them, another random man sitting too close for comfort. The man Colm wanted dead was sitting in the same room, surrounded by a small group of men but looking no wiser. It wasn’t Arthur’s older friend or the large man, just a nondescript, small man Charles didn’t even know the name of. He’d been one of the men Arthur had tried to defend weeks ago, backing down only when Charles had asked him to. He was surprised from his inspection by Arthur’s low voice, oddly hesitant.

“Sorry Charles, I have to do it. What’s one more life after twenty something years of killin’?” he looked down into his oatmeal, stirring it with his spoon but making no move to eat any, “Despite what you may think, I ain’t suicidal and Colm ain’t the forgivin’ type. Sorry.” His eyes were narrowed, his muscles tense, as if preparing for Charles to tell him off. He didn’t.

“I won’t pretend at having a moral high ground Arthur, and you don’t need nobody’s permission. But I don’t think you should do it.”

“I’ve killed a lot of folks before,” Arthur said, voice low and hard. Charles shivered and looked away, eyes stinging.

“Yeah. Me too.”


End file.
